The Fall
by MissWinkles
Summary: She's got a bulletproof heart but he's got a hollow point smile. He's a gathering storm. A spark in the darkness. A bruised heart just waiting to happen. At rock bottom, Bella Swan has nowhere to fall but everything to lose.
1. Prologue

The house lights dim.

With a shake of my head I dismiss tall and pouty as she nears me, flashing a set of whitened teeth behind blood-red lips. She's nice, but not my style.

I don't know why I'm here. Boredom, I suppose.

I'm just _so_ bored.

The crowd continues to make noise, but now it's hushed –like someone has turned the volume down. The air is hazy, the cigar and artificial smoke mingling to create something new but just as distasteful. The lights are low enough to create secret corners, and to keep hidden the secrets that they contain.

A moment later, red light floods the stage, bathing the room and its occupants in crimson light. The condensation from my drink drips lazily down the side of my glass, dribbling over my fingers.

And then she appears.

She steps on stage, her skin lit red from above, and the air snaps and shifts around me. Suddenly the whole club is at attention, like all the air has been sucked out of the place with one breath. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as she swings her hips to one side as the first drum beat of the song thumps through the speakers. There's a collective exhale—a sigh—as she begins to move, rolling her body with the beat. Feedback-heavy guitar follows a second later and it's like the temperature in the room rises. I can feel the sweat begin to seep into the palms of my hands.

Something about her is different.

I know it. She knows it. The whole goddamn place knows it.

She is mesmerizing, accompanied by nothing but a simple guitar riff and the kind of voice that's part punk rock, part rock goddess. With her skin covered in nothing but black lace and colored light, something about her makes me unable to move, blink, breathe.

She is raw.

She is powerful.

She's sin in six-inch heels.

She's dangerous.

The drum beat thumps so hard that the club trembles. The ice in my glass clinks against the tumbler, and the blood in my veins vibrates violently until I feel like I'm shaking inside.

I shouldn't be here—God knows I have other places I should be—yet, here I am, unable to move even if I wanted to.

Her blonde hair brushes her lower back and hangs in curtains over each of her breasts while her delicate hands flutter over ivory-colored skin. Her movements are graceful and seductive, and I can't tell if it's the music thumping in my chest or my heart.

Maybe it's both.

She rolls her hips and dips low on impossibly long legs. The fuzzy guitar screams over the speakers and the collar of my shirt is too tight, the cuffs, the buttons down my chest—I'm burning up in my own skin. Her presence has squeezed all of the air from my lungs, and all I want is never to breathe again. Even with a room full of people it feels like every move she makes is for me—like we're the only ones here.

Strong thighs and arms work together and it's more than a stripper on a pole—it's fucking acrobatics and agility, the power of her confidence sexier than the barely there outfit she has on. She turns, her lips curved into a smile over her shoulder, and the heart-shaped face and dark eyes hit me like a freight train to the chest.

Not her.

Anyone but her.

She's too good to be here of all places.

With deft hands, she slips the sheer black bra from her shoulders and I have to look away. It's not that I don't want to look—God, I do—but I know that if I do I won't be able to think of anything else for the rest of the night. Maybe for the rest of my life.

The man to my left leans forward, his eyes on her even as the pretty girl in his lap tries her best to keep his attention. His eyes on her make my muscles twitch. I flex my hand against my thigh until I feel my knuckles pop, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have not to rip him from his chair by his shirt and slam my knee into his face.

My jaw clenches and the toothpick in my mouth almost snaps as I do everything I can to stay seated. Instead, I turn my eyes back to the stage.

I'm not the guy that fights over a girl.

But I want to be.

For her I think I would.

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.

When I look up again, she has her back to me, baring a long expanse of perfect skin to the room.

I swallow the last mouthful of my drink, still unable to look right at her. Even so, those eyes and that face stain the back of my eyelids like a bright spot from the sun.

The last few notes of her song are still lingering in the air when I stand.

Turning, I leave a tip for the waitress.

I pick up my jacket from the coat check.

Walking down the brightly lit hallway and into the night air, I slip my gloves on, pushing the leather deep between my fingers.

My phone rings again, and I pull it out of my pocket.

"Yeah."

Gravel crunches under my feet as I walk to my car, and I can hear the music from the club still thumping through the walls.

The phone line is silent for a moment. And then, "Half an hour. The bowling alley on Lohen."

I glance down at my watch and disconnect the call, tucking it back into my pocket.

The rumble of the engine pierces the midnight silence, and the neon lights of the club reflect brightly off of the hood of my car.

Sighing, I rest my head against the seat and close my eyes.

I have the feeling life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.


	2. Chapter One

**Thank you Drive, The Weeknd, Arctic Monkeys, Billy Huxley, Thom Yorke and Sara, who deserves big hugs because without ****her this would be just another "one day..." idea.**

**Okay. Here we go...**

* * *

The elderly woman is dressed in her robe and slippers, her back hunched and her dark hair pulled tight atop her head. "Come," she says quietly, waving us inside with an arthritis-gnarled hand. I bring Emmett around and usher him into the apartment in front of me, trying my best to ignore the resistance I feel as I press a hand to the spot between his shoulders.

Neda's husband is asleep on his recliner just feet away, with the Iranian news still playing on the TV. The apartment smells of something delicious: garlic, tomatoes, and a heady mix of exotic spices that make my stomach growl with hunger. I can't remember the last time I ate a decent meal.

"How are you, Mrs. Eizadi?" I whisper. "How's Joseph?"

She waves a hand in the direction of her snoring husband. "Good, good."

Stopping us just inside the door, Neda clutches her bathrobe shut and bends down to give Emmett a kiss on each of his cheeks. With both hands cupping his face, and smiles down at him.

"Hello, _azizam_," she says, her face softening, and wrinkles appearing at the sides of her eyes as she smiles. Ignoring her age and her old creaky bones, she picks up my son and lifts him onto her hip, where he immediately rests his head on her shoulder. I watch with thinly veiled jealously as his eyelids droop, and he tucks the thumb that isn't wrapped around a stuffed toy into his mouth. Neda smiles as Emmett nestles his head into her shoulder. He's quiet and close to sleep again, his body sagging gently against her chest.

Leaning in, I press a kiss to the top of his head. "Night, baby," I whisper, kissing him on the cheek. His skin smells like bubble bath and that unmistakable scent that's all his; and I can't help but breathe in a lungful of it.

"Bye, Momma," he says quietly, sighing tiredly as he buries his face into Neda's neck. The sight of him snuggling into her sends a tiny crack through my heart. Swallowing the ache, I step away, ignoring the resentment that festers in my chest. While I'm thankful to the old lady for everything she does for me, I resent her for being able to watch my son fall asleep when I can't.

"I'll be back in the morning."

The old woman nods, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Emmett's back. His sock-clad feet dangle at her waist as she walks me to the door. I adjust the bag on my shoulder, squeezing the strap to stop from snatching my boy out of her arms. "He's already brushed his teeth." She nods. "And he's had a bath." She nods again. "Oh, and don't forget the nightlight—"

"Yes. Is fine," she says with a smile. "I look after."

Before I can change my mind, I reach out and squeeze the toes on one of Em's feet before slipping through the front door and out into the hallway. The apartment door closes, and I listen to the locks click over again until I'm left alone in the hallway with nothing but the smell of rising damp and the sound of the lights buzzing overhead.

Tired, I slump against the wall, hanging my head.

Leaving Emmett is never easy, but for some reason tonight seems harder than the rest. It might be it's because his birthday is coming up. My baby—the tiny little boy that tore open my world four years ago—is getting older. I miss the soft head cradled against my chest, the smell of his baby skin, his warm weight in my arms as he slept.

But watching him grow—watching him become his own little person—has become a brand new reward of its own, so I know that it's more than that.

No. It's the idea that every day he gets older he'll become more aware. Understanding will begin to sink in, and he'll soon realize that he doesn't have the toys that the other children do, that his clothes are second hand, and that we live in a shitty two-bedroom walk-up with intermittent hot water and no heating. He'll come to understand more and more that even though I'm doing my best, I'll still never be able to give him everything he needs.

It's this—the idea that Emmett will think of me as a failure—that crushes me from the inside out, squeezing the air from my lungs and forcing my stomach into my throat.

My hand drifts to the soft overnight bag that's slung over my shoulder, where beneath the cotton and layers of clothing sits a rent bill with the words "past due" stamped on it in red ink.

Working two jobs six days a week isn't the way I'd envisioned my life. But with debt hanging over my head, the cost of raising a child, and inner-city living, I'm doing all I can just to make ends meet.

Still, it's not enough. It never seems to be enough.

As much as it pains me to do it—to spend all of this time away from Emmett when he's so young—I do what have to do to make sure that he has a roof over his head. That he has enough to eat. That he has clothes on his back. That he can go to school and maybe grow up to be a better person than I will ever be.

The front doors slam shut on the ground floor, the sound echoing up the stairwell. Sighing, I lift myself from the wall, closing all of these horrible, gut-churning thoughts behind my steel resolve.

The wooden stairs creak under my feet, the old wood flexing underfoot. Over the sound of the TV from apartment 2A I hear a heavy set of footsteps coming up the stairs below me, and when I reach the first landing I see Edward, who lives a few doors down from me, making his way up the stairs. His shoulders are hunched, his head covered by a black knit cap. I can hear the rattle of change in his pocket as he takes each step, and the tinny sound of music echoing from a pair of headphones that dangle around his neck. Never looking up, he slows as I approach and moves to the side. The stairs are narrow, barely three feet wide. He has to flatten himself against the wall to let me pass.

Looking up briefly, I smile. "Thanks."

He nods and continues up the stairs behind me, pushing the headphones back into his ears.

I've seen him around a few times, mostly just in the stairwell or in the parking lot. He keeps to himself a lot, barely affording anyone much more than a passing hello. But still, there's something interesting about Edward and his quiet demeanor. I pause at the bottom of the stairs and look back, hoping to catch another look at him, but he's already gone.

It's jarring, his silence—especially given the way he looks; like a storm on the horizon, something dark and fierce. But I know better than most that looks can be deceiving.

Everything is not always what it seems.

* * *

*Azizam – Farsi for _darling_

* * *

_Endless thank you's to Astro and Rach, ABadKitty and Wimeo for every single word. And for all of the ones I cut out, too._

_HUGE thanks also to everyone who left me love after the last chapter. Big epic hugs. _

_x Wink_


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

* * *

Rain drips from the eaves of my apartment building, and the sidewalk is sleek and wet under the night sky. The air feels heavy with rain, and I can hear thunder rumbling in the distance. As a drop of rain hits the back of my neck and rolls under the collar of my sweater I curse myself for not bringing an umbrella.

Luckily, a cab pulls in just as a light mist begins to fall.

I hop into the back seat of the cab, glaring sullenly at the mass of red, rusting metal that sits in the corner of the parking lot. My truck only just made the cross-country trek from Forks, and has since been sitting in the lot waiting to be fixed. Unfortunately, I have neither the time nor the money to get it repaired.

By the time I arrive at work, the parking lot is full of expensive looking cars, and Marcus' bright yellow Porsche sits under a streetlight, its paint gleaming. The building's neon pink sign glows bright, illuminating the dark night sky, and there's already a line at the door. I attempt to slip quietly in the side entrance, closing it gently behind me, but even though I do my best to tip-toe past Marcus' office, he still sees me.

"You're late," he calls from behind his desk. His back is to me, his head buried in the safe as video monitors around him flicker with feeds from around the club.

"Sorry." I hustle past the door, my wet shoes squeaking on the cement floor of the hallway.

The bass-heavy music thumps through the walls as I make my way down the hallway and past the bathrooms, toward the dressing room. Warm yellow light and the familiar smell of coconut body lotion greet me as I slip in through the door. As I stop to check the floor rotation, I spot Leah across the room, her outfit on and her phone pressed to her ear. She waves and smiles, blowing me a kiss. Alice is there too, at her dressing table, perfecting her cherry-red lipstick.

She smiles at me in the mirror. "Hey, girl."

I touch my hand to her shoulder as I pass. "Hey, sweetie."

"How are you?" she calls, her voice following me into the locker room.

I stuff my bag into my locker and pull out a couple of outfits before I strip out of my jeans and hoodie.

"I'm good," I reply, the lie rolling off of my tongue so easily I barely notice it.

I tuck my plain clothes away and slide a black thong up my legs as Alice talks to me from the dressing room. I half listen, trying instead to focus on mentally preparing myself for a night's work. As I do, I can feel the little pieces of Bella Swan being tucked safely away and someone new taking her place.

Beneath the coloured lights of Blush, the most exclusive men's club in the city, I begin to shed my skin.

Three nights a week I strip away the person I am—brown hair and faded jeans, worn out sneakers and a sports bra—and piece by piece I turn myself into someone new. Rose is confident and seductive, she's long-legged and lean, with skin that smells like temptation and lips that look like seduction.

She's everything I'm not, but everything that I need to be.

This place is the real deal. We don't get paid to strut around a pole looking bored; we get paid to dance our asses off and keep the clientele happy. The girls are hand-picked by the club manager, and we're the best at what we do. With a premium cover charge Blush rides the line between fantasy and luxury, and if you're willing to pay for it, who says you can't have both?

I slide my feet into a pair of heels that make my legs look long, and throw the locker door shut, hiding Bella away for a few hours. Back in the dressing room, I pin my bangs up and cover my dark hair with blonde waves that skim the tops of my breasts. I dust my skin with sweet-smelling powder and paint my lips a pretty pink to match my name.

"How's that sweet boy of yours?" Alice asks, wiping her nose, a rolled-up twenty between her fingers.

The thought of Emmett makes me smile. I swipe a finger beneath my lower lip, perfecting the petal-colored lipstick. "He's good. Growing up so fast."

Alice smiles, her eyes sparkling from beneath her false lashes. "You'll have to bring him by so we can meet him one day."

At just twenty, Alice is Southern-Belle-sweet; coked-up and much too naïve for the job she's in. Not to mention completely stupid if she thinks I'd bring my son anywhere near this place. Unfortunately, I get the feeling that there isn't anyone in her life to keep her straight and narrow. She's a long way from Kansas, and the city is no place for a sweet little thing like her.

I give Alice a half-shrug half-nod, which appeases her for the moment, and then, beyond the stage doors, the music changes and the DJ calls my name.

"Knock 'em dead," says Leah as she struts past, all dark skin, ink-covered, femme-fatale.

With a deep breath I feel the last pieces of my mask slide into place. Shoulders back and head up, I step forward.

On stage, the lights are bright and the bass is heavy, the vibrations shaking the floor beneath my feet. The music begins with a slow bassline that rattles my chest as I begin to move. It takes a moment for my muscles to warm up, but after a minute or so I feel my body relax into the movements, and then all I have to do is let go and let my body do the rest.

As the beat picks up, I feel the burn in my arms and thighs as I use them to lift my body up and around the pole. I can feel a room full of eyes on me as I move. I feel their gaze burn my skin from across the club, sizzling where it meets the flesh of my ass, my thighs and my breasts. I may not always be proud of what I do, but that doesn't mean I'm not good at it. I won't lie; there are nights when it feels like just another job, when I'd much rather be anywhere but here. But most nights I'm happy knowing that while my son sleeps, I'm earning double what I do at the diner on a good day. I'm earning the money I need to put him into a decent daycare, the money I need to pay the rent and pay off my debt.

But most of all, when I put Rose on it's like I can be anyone I want. I don't have to be the girl who lives in a rundown apartment with no money and a broken down car. I can be powerful. I can be seductive. When I'm dancing, there's no doubt who these men are looking at, and the want in their eyes sends a thrill through me that I can't find anywhere else.

For those brief minutes on stage I am the star of someone's world, rather than the satellite in orbit.

Too soon the song comes to an end, and I'm left with a thumping heart and damp skin. Moving quickly, I change out of my dance gear and into something soft and lightweight, something that I can take on and off with ease, something that–unless you're the one paying for it–keeps everything hidden just out of sight.

One of the bouncers pops his head into the dressing room. "You got Tyler in room three, Bells."

I pop some gum into my mouth, nodding over my shoulder at him. "Thanks, Paul. I'll just be five minutes." After another quick spray of deodorant, and a swipe of perfume behind my ears and on my neck, I make my way across the club to the private rooms.

Eyes swing my way and heads turn, gazes fall upon every inch of exposed skin I have as I move across the club floor. For the first few weeks here I found the attention uncomfortable—I wasn't used to having dozens of men watching my every move. But now I know that every glance and every smile means money in my pocket and food in my fridge. I can't say that being desired doesn't also have its merits. A roll of my hips and a flutter of my hands in the right places can make the whole place sit up straight, and with just a flick of my hair and the promise of a little more, I can make a man hand over his paycheck. Sometimes the ego trip is dizzying.

So I smile and I saunter across the club floor, swinging my hips like it's nothing, like it doesn't mean a thing to me. Like everything I have isn't riding on my every move.

As it does when we're busy, Five a.m. rolls around quickly, and it's not long before the bouncers begin tossing out the last few customers. In the back, I take my wig off and run a hand through my damp hair, putting Bella back together piece by piece as I shove Rose into my bag for another night. My legs and back are aching, and with a full week now behind me, all I can think about is a long, hot shower before crawling into bed.

"Bella," says Marcus, handing me a white envelope with my night's takings from the bar. It feels light in my hands.

Frowning, I open it and count the bills inside. The words are out before I can check them. "That's it?"

He shrugs, handing Jane her envelope. "That's it. Maybe next week you'll work a little harder."

The paper envelope crinkles between my fingers. As well as tips—which are split between us and the house—we earn half of the bar takings when clients buy drinks. I'm not stupid; I keep a tally as the night goes. What's in my envelope doesn't add up. It's not even close.

"Can you count again?" I ask, holding out the envelope. Alice watches me from over Marcus' shoulder, her eyes swinging between him and I wildly.

Marcus turns, his dark eyes zeroing in on me. I try not to shrink back as he steps closer. "I can count it ten times, Bella," he says, his tone even but not without malice. "You can count it, Alice can count it, your fucking Grandma can count it—it is what it is."

"But it's light eighty dollars."

His brows lift. "You calling me a liar?" he snaps. His chest is now mere inches away from my face. He whispers, "You got a problem, you start pulling your weight like the rest of the girls," and my throat tightens and my jaw clenches as I resist the urge call him on his bullshit, and demand that he pay me what I know is mine.

But I don't. Because not a lot of people scare me, but Marcus does.

I've seen what happens to stupid girls who fall out of line, or who dare to question his decisions. I've seen him drag a girl into his office by her hair. I've heard rumors of broken knees and busted wrists when girls have tried to jump ship to another club. Blush might be one of the best strip clubs in the city, but there's no hiding the fact that it's nothing but a pretty face for the darker side of Marcus' business. When he asks me to pull my weight, what he means is that he wants me to push his drugs to my customers. I've seen the girls slipping guys bags of powder or pills, and I know Marcus gives them a small cut of the deal. None of the dancers will talk about it, but nevertheless I can't help but notice their envelopes look a little thicker than mine.

I can't say I haven't thought about it briefly, but every time I do it all comes down to Emmett. I don't care how broke I am, I'll work six jobs if I have to–I am not getting involved in that sort of shit again. Emmett only has me, and to put myself in a situation would be reckless.

Marcus steps back, sensing my fear, and as he does a bone-deep feeling of weariness settles inside of me. The money I have will cover my bills and the grocery shopping, but not much else. I need that extra eighty, but it's also five-thirty in the morning and I'm exhausted.

Sighing, I stuff the wad of money into my purse and hand Marcus back the empty envelope. "Whatever. See you next week."

Throwing my bag onto my shoulder, I say goodbye to the girls and head back down the hallway towards the side door.

"Think about it," Marcus calls after me, hidden in his office again.

"Not going to happen," I reply before slamming the club door behind me.

By the time I get home it's almost six. Using the spare key, I slip into the Eizadi's apartment and lift my sleeping boy out of the spare bed and into my arms. I tuck his head between my chin and my shoulder, and just the feeling of him in my arms loosens the knot inside my chest. Even as I climb two flights of stairs with a thirty-odd-pound kid in my arms, I feel lighter. Tomorrow is Monday, which means I don't have anywhere to be but here. There's money in my purse and Em doesn't have preschool again until Tuesday. I'm not going to let Marcus or anybody else ruin this feeling. Not today.

Dumping my things inside the front door, I slip Emmett into my bed, where he immediately rolls onto his stomach and tucks his hands under his thighs. I turn the portable oil heater on to warm the room a little, and pull the covers up to keep him warm. Leaving the bathroom door open, I shower, washing off the smell of stale smoke and perfume. Throwing on a pair of underwear and an old t-shirt, I close the curtains in the bedroom, and as I do, the sound of a car rumbling to life drifts up through my window. Peeking out of the curtains, I spot a shiny black car pulling away, its powerful engine roaring in the early morning air.

I slip into the bed beside Emmett and pull him close beside me. His mouth is open a little, his cheek pressed into the pillow, his face wrinkled from sleep. I kiss him softly, brushing a wayward blond curl from his forehead before I lay my hand on his back, feeling the rise and fall of his breaths. The sun is just starting to shine through my curtains, the light soft and muted after a night of rain, and in moments I'm fast asleep, lulled into unconsciousness by the sound of my son's deep breathing and the feel of his heart beating beneath my hand.

* * *

**You ready? He's on his way... **

**Thank you Kitty, Wime, Rach and Astro endlessly. Forever and a day.**

**Thank you for reading and for your lovely words also. **

**x Wink**


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

* * *

The blaring of a car alarm outside wakes me just before nine AM.

Refusing to open my eyes until I need to, I lie still, enjoying the last few minutes of rest before I really do have to get up. Listening for any movement in the house, I'm not surprised to find it quiet, with only the sound of Emmett's latest cartoon obsession drifting through the bedroom door.

Finally, after I almost fall asleep again twice, I peel my eyes open and sit up to take a sip from the glass of water by my bed. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, yawning again. Stretching my arms behind my back, I roll my neck, hearing the satisfying little pops and clicks as it settles. The bedroom is bright, the sunlight beaming through the crack in the curtain, and warming my feet as the light streaks across them. I wiggle my toes, taking a little time to enjoy the fact that I have nowhere to be–no work, no preschool for Emmett, absolutely nothing.

Pulling my hair up, I secure it with an elastic band and splash some water on my face before going in search of Em and some breakfast.

As is his habit, he's about three feet from the TV, his little legs crisscrossed under him, his hands hiding in his lap as he stares at the screen.

"Haven't I told you about sitting so close?"

I tuck my hands under his arms and lift him onto the sofa before dropping a quick kiss to his head. He barely moves. His eyes are glued to the TV.

The kitchen is warm from the rare morning sunshine, the window over the sink letting the light shine over the cracked linoleum under my feet. I know I should be thinking about how to pay my bills and where the money for next month's rent will come from—especially after coming home eighty dollars light last night—but I can't find it in me to care.

"You want some breakfast, Em?"

I pick up Emmett's plate and tip the crumbs from his dinner into the sink before I turn the faucet on, letting my hand sit under the running water as the old pipes whine and strain with effort. It takes a good minute or so for the hot water to kick in, but when it finally arrives I rinse off our two plates and stack them beside the sink.

"Emmett?"

Drying my hands, I turn to the living room, where Emmett is still transfixed on the TV. Leaning over the back of the sofa, I poke him in the ribs gently.

"Hey, Mister." He turns, giggling and trying to bat me away when I tickle him lightly. "I asked if you want breakfast."

"Can I have pantakes?"

"No pancakes today. How about cereal?"

Shrugging, Emmett turns back to the TV. "I guess."

I open the fridge, and even though I know exactly what's in there, it's still a kick to the gut when I see bare shelves. I sniff the milk and put it back beside the half stick of butter and a soft carrot. Closing the refrigerator door, I'm met with a photo of Emmett on his last birthday. The glossy print is curling at the sides a little, but the photo is still as bright as ever. His face is covered with blue frosting and chocolate cake crumbs, his red t-shirt caked with it, too. His hair has yet to develop the curl it gets when it's longer, and his cheeks are rosy and soft, full of the baby fat he's begun to lose over the last year.

The boy in the picture and the little boy watching TV seem a world apart. The Emmett that sits on the couch behind me has begun to grow into a boy. His father was–_is_–tall, so I can only expect that he'll be a tall kid. In fact, he has so many of the features that make his father attractive that I can only expect he'll be just as good-looking. The perfect dip above his top lip, the golden blond hair, the stern set of his brow that he gets when he's focusing really hard on something—it's all Eric. He also has his father's eyes—that cool, bright blue that you can see from a mile away. But where Eric's are icy and piercing, Emmett's are bright and beautiful, tiny windows to his thoughtful, gentle little soul.

Thoughts of Emmett's father make my heart squeeze for just a moment, and for a split second, as I stare out into the sunshine, I'm left wishing for simpler times. I long for afternoons spent driving around town with him and his boys, with his arm around my shoulder and my bare feet on the dashboard. My stomach flutters at the memories of nights spent hiding from my mom in the back seat of that car, of the skunky smell of weed mingled with pine-scented air freshener. In my mind I see his smile, the same smile I see on his son's face, and I wish I was there all over again. Back where you can see the stars, where the roads are long and empty, and where everything was easy and carefree until it wasn't.

But I wish for the boy Eric was, not the man he became, and that fact turns the fluttering in my stomach to ice, and the butterflies sink like lead weights.

"Come get your breakfast, baby," I say, shaking the memories from my head.

I tip some cereal into Emmett's bowl and watch him slide off of the sofa and walk into the kitchen, his socked feet silent on the floor. He pulls himself up and into his booster seat, waiting patiently.

"You wanna do something fun today?" I ask, pouring what's left of the milk into his plastic bowl.

His legs swing back and forth, and he nods.

"Yeah? How about we do some shopping and then go to the park?"

His blue eyes light up as he licks the milk moustache from his top lip. "Can we get ice cream?"

"Maybe," I say around a mouthful of dry cereal. "But only if you pack away all of your toys first."

Emmett bounces in his seat, nodding. Before the morning is out his room is clean—well, four-year-old clean—and he's nagged me so much about ice cream that I agree just to get some peace and quiet. That's another thing about raising a kid that no one told me—they don't forget. You mention the word ice cream once and you're bound by kid-law to come through with the goods. Heaven help you if you don't.

The four-storey apartment building we live in isn't in the best part of town, in fact, it's miles away from being anywhere near the best part of town. But one of the reasons I chose it, apart from the cheap rent, was the park across the street. It's lush and green, with huge leafy trees that line the pathways, and a playground big enough to keep Emmett entertained for hours. Today we walk through the park slowly, stopping to look at sticks and leaves and whatever else catches his attention, making our way to the supermarket on the other side.

I pick up a few things at the store while Emmett sits in the trolley, happily munching on a little handful of grapes. Afterward, even after I tried to fill him up with fruit, he still eats a scoop of ice cream the size of a tennis ball. It's bright blue and bubblegum flavored, and I swear it covers every inch of his skin from ear to ear. In fact, I have to wet wipe it out of his ear, too.

I splurge on a scoop of cookies and cream for myself, and even decide to pay the extra dollar for the hot fudge sauce. It's sweet and creamy and as I'm licking the last of it from the spoon I realize that besides a handful of dry cereal it's the closest thing I've had to a meal since yesterday lunch time. My stomach gurgles with appreciation.

After gorging ourselves, we walk the groceries home and then head back to the park so that Emmett can burn off a little of the sugar buzz.

"Stay where I can see you, okay?"

Emmett wrestles his sweater off, and nods as he balls it up and hands it to me. I sit on a little wooden bench under a tree as he walks over to the playground. There are at least four other kids on the equipment, and two of them look about his age. His approach is slow and tentative, and halfway there he turns back to me, looking uncertain. I smile, encouraging him to keep going.

Emmett is not what you would call a social butterfly. He gets it from me, I guess. He's always been happy to play on his own, or spend time with me rather than run around with a big bunch of kids. I know I should be encouraging him to make friends and be social, but he's all I have right now, so if I'm a little greedy about keeping him all to myself, then so be it. I'm sure in a few years he'll be too cool to hang out with his mom anyway.

The clouds roll in slowly, but there's still enough sun left to warm my legs, so I stretch them out in front of me. Between a stomach full of ice cream, the sunshine, and a happy three almost four-year-old, it's pretty much a perfect moment. Forget the past-due bills, the shitty day job, and the even shittier night job; this right here is all I need. The day feels like it's brand new: perfect, shiny, and completely weightless. Days like this remind me that no matter how hard life gets, I'm eternally grateful for what little I have.

I look over at Emmett, who's sitting quietly under the slide, a million miles and a million years away, his favorite dinosaur figures in hand. While the other children squeal and run and fall and giggle, he plays alone quietly, more than happy to immerse himself in his own fantasy world. It's one of the things I admire the most about him.

Sometimes the fact that he's mine still takes my breath away. I _made_ that. Part of my DNA, part of me and who I am at a molecular level, is a part of him. He's more than just ten perfect little fingers and toes; he's a collection of two people, all the best parts rolled up into one tiny human being.

I was only nineteen when I got pregnant, but from the moment I found out I knew that more than anything I wanted to meet this person I was helping to create. Of course, his father didn't feel the same way, and at the time I couldn't understand why, but looking back now, knowing what I do, I can only see it as fate.

A few other people come and go from the park, and the afternoon stretches into early evening. Soon enough the sun starts to set, and the moment it dips behind a cloud, the air takes on a chill, the sun's warmth swallowed up by the horizon.

I stand, waving at Emmett from across the playground. "Time to go," I call, and a moment later he appears from his spot beneath the slide. He's covered in bark chips and leaves, and since we skipped his afternoon nap, he's running on fumes but still a ball of energy.

"Can I watch my movie?" he asks as I take his hand before we cross the road.

"Again? Aren't you bored with it already?"

He shakes his head, sending dry leaves everywhere. "It's my most favorite."

Even though I can repeat the entire _Walking with Dinosaurs_ DVD from memory, I nod anyway. "You can watch it after dinner."

"Yes!" he yells, fist pumping and giving a little karate kick for good measure.

We're still a good distance away from the entrance to our building when I spot a group of guys hanging around outside. At first I'm not worried, but as we get a little closer a feeling of unease begins to settle in. Normally a bunch of men wouldn't bother me, I have to deal with idiots like these guys at work all the time, but I've seen a few of them before and they're not the kind of people I want near Emmett. I try to think of another way to get inside, another entrance somewhere, but there's nothing. We're going to have to walk right past them.

I try to look calm, but a few yards away Emmett's grip on my hand tightens, and I can tell he's seen them too. Being around a bunch of kids is one thing, but grown men have always made Emmett nervous.

There are four of them. They're not big guys, but four stupid, drunk guys all the same. I try to calm the nerves that rise up in my throat—I don't want Emmett to feel my apprehension any more than he needs to. I drape an arm over his shoulder, tucking him into my side as we get closer.

I'd hoped to be able to sneak past without any trouble, but when I look up I find all four sets of eyes watching our approach. Emmett's shoulders tense beneath my hand, so I rub a hand over his back reassuringly, and try to make my voice sound calm. "It's okay," I say quietly. "Keep walking."

The entrance to the building is flanked by high garden beds, and the guys are blocking the only path in. There are stray beer cans and bottles, and I can smell the smoke before I see the cigarette butts on the ground. One of them steps into my path and he's so close I don't' have anything left to do but stop in front of him.

"Hey," he drawls, and the feeling of his eyes on me sends a wave of disgust rolling through me.

I try to maneuver around him, but he blocks our path.

"Have I seen you somewhere before?" he asks, trying to dip his head to meet my gaze.

I shake my head. "I doubt it. Excuse me."

I try to side-step him, but he steps in front of me again and his friends laugh. This time I look up at him, my jaw clenched tightly. Somehow he doesn't get the hint.

"You sure we haven't met before? Pretty face like yours—,"

"I'm sure."

"Yeah, yeah," pipes up one of his friends. "She's one of Marcus' girls."

Recognition lights his eyes, and though he smiles it's cold—reptilian. "That's right. You do work at Blush." His eyes travel the length of my body slowly. "I'd know that pretty ass anywhere."

"I think you have the wrong person." I try again to get around them. "Can I get past now please?"

I grip Emmett tightly, feeling his hand slip around my thigh gently as he presses himself into my side.

"You live here?" he asks. "Just you and the kid?"

Had I been on my own, I would happily have used the little can of mace I keep in my bag. Or the alarm I have attached to my house keys. But I really don't want to scare Emmett. I just want to get him upstairs where it's safe.

I grit my teeth, trying to stand taller. "It's none of your business. How about you back off and let us through?"

He takes a half a step closer and lifts his hand to my face. My immediate instinct is to recoil, and the minute I do, I hate myself for it. His fingers touch my cheek, and I have to clench my jaw to stop from trying to bite his fingers clean off. Instead, I swallow the sour taste that coats my tongue, feeling my fear go with it.

I'm not afraid, I'm angry.

"Come on now," he says quietly. "No need to make this hard. I'm sure you and me can work something out." His breath is laced with the scent of cheap bourbon and stale cigarettes. The smell makes my stomach roll again.

I open my mouth to snap back at him, only to be cut off by an approaching voice.

"Hey," booms the voice from behind me. "She said back off."

The voice is deep and demanding, and I'm startled as a wall of black cotton suddenly appears, pushing Emmett and I back a step. He's so tall and broad across the shoulders that all I can see is his shirt and the little flashes of color where ink peeks out of the neckline.

It takes a moment for me to recognize Edward. It isn't until he turns slightly, his eyes cutting to me over his shoulder, that I realize who it is. I'm so surprised by his appearance that it takes my brain a beat to catch up.

"What you gonna do?" sneers the guy, his face an ugly contrast to Edward's almost perfect profile. Up close, the attractive set of his jaw and cheekbones are even more startling than I'd realized. "You gonna get your pretty face banged up over some whore?"

Edward's back flexes, and I see his fist clench in my peripheral vision, his knuckles white under the strain. For a split second the other man cowers, his brain obviously sizing up his opponent and coming up short.

"Step. Back."

He does nothing to hide the menace in his tone. His voice is calm and steady, but his fist is still flexed at his side. I pull Emmett tightly to my side, my heart hammering so hard I'm sure I'm about to choke on it.

After a moment of uneasy silence, the guy finally retreats out of Edward's face, and when two guys to my right step apart, I take the opportunity to pull Emmett through the gap between them and into the building.

Lifting Emmett onto my hip, I take the stairs as quickly as I can. I don't stop. I don't look back. I don't breathe again until we're upstairs and safe behind a locked door.

* * *

**Thank you, as always, to Astro, Rach, Kitty and Wime for all of their hard work. Any mistakes are mine. **

**See you guys soon!**

**x Wink**


	5. Chapter Four

**Apologies for the late update. RL, yo. What a bitch.**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

* * *

With Emmett on my hip, I take the stairs two at a time, my legs burning and my arms aching with his weight. I fumble with the keys for a moment, my heart beating a million miles a minute and my hands sweating. Finally, the door opens and I push Emmett through, closing it behind us, and dead bolting it before sliding the chain lock into place.

I rest a shaking hand on the door and lift up onto my toes to look through the peephole. The hallway is empty. When I'm satisfied there's no one there, I lower myself from my tiptoes and press my head to the front door, exhaling shakily.

I hate that those assholes know where I live.

I hate that Marcus can spread his filth to the one place I feel safe.

Most of all, I hate that all I could do was run.

I'm torn between fear and anger, and the urge to stay and keep an eye on Emmett is almost crushed by the need to run downstairs and unload my anger into that guy's face.

Instead, I stand rooted to a spot just inside my front door, shaking and trying not to cry.

When I turn around a moment later, Emmett is still behind me, his fists balled in the material of his sweater. His blue eyes swim with unshed tears, and whatever anger is still simmering inside of me is quickly washed away, replaced with guilt. The last thing I want is for Emmett to be upset by what happened, and here I am freaking out right in front of him.

Taking a deep breath, I reach out a hand for his. "Come on," I say, sounding calmer than I feel. "Let's see what we can do about dinner."

I cook for us both, and do my best to stick to our Monday night routine for Emmett's sake. As I do though, I keep an ear trained on the hallway outside of my apartment, listening for Edward. But I don't hear his heavy footsteps on the stairs, or the sound of his door slamming shut, and the continuing silence is somehow worse.

Emmett eats his meal quietly, his expression more serious than it should be when faced with a bowl of green Jell-o. When he's finished, we pack his backpack, readying it for the next day, and then brush his teeth before getting him ready for bed.

He's sitting in his underwear when the questions start.

"Did the mean man go away, Momma?" he asks as I slip him into his pajamas.

I nod, wriggling his shirt down over his stomach. "Yeah. He's gone, baby."

"Why did he make you sad, Momma?"

"Well, he said some not nice things to me, and it made me sad. Kind of like when Tyler said mean things to you at preschool, remember?"

Emmett nods somberly.

"But I'm not sad anymore, because I have you and you make me happy again."

"I do?"

"Yeah you do. You're my favorite."

Emmett smiles a toothy grin. "You're my favorite too, Momma. Even more than Steven."

I gasp dramatically. "More than Steven the dinosaur?"

"More!"

He giggles as I run a finger up the length of his foot, and the sound eases a little of the tension inside of me. "Well that must be a lot then."

Emmett continues to get ready for bed, wrestling with his socks and slippers. Kneeling at the side of his bed, I watch him, that familiar little crease between his brows wrinkling the skin there. "Will he come back?" he asks, wiggling his toes into a yellow sock.

"I don't know," I say truthfully. Emmett lifts each foot as I slip them into his favorite dinosaur slippers. I look up at him, into his bright blue eyes. "But you know you're safe here, right? You know that nothing bad will happen to you?"

He nods, and I lean forward and hold him close. "I will never, ever let anyone hurt you, Emmett. Ever. It's just you and me, so we have to look out for each other, okay?"

I feel him nod into my shoulder, and I sit back, smiling as he brushes his hair from his face. I really should get him a haircut but his floppy blond curls are just too damn cute.

"You want to sit on the couch with me tonight?"

His eyes light up and he leans in a little. "Dinosaurs?"

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. "No dinosaurs tonight, Emmett."

"Dinosaaauuurs, Momma," he wails with a pout. "You said!"

I'd completely forgotten my earlier promise to let him watch one of his Dinosaur DVDs. I'm severely regretting buying him the box set of documentaries for Christmas.

"Okay, but just one."

He jumps off his bed and runs past me into the living room where he proceeds to pull a DVD out and set himself up on the couch.

"Did you know birds usded to be dinosaurs?"

"No," I lie, and he nods as I throw a blanket over him.

Continuing to spout dinosaur facts, Emmett curls up beside me and wiggles impatiently until the documentary starts, after which he's still—completely engrossed. Thankfully, he falls asleep within twenty minutes and barely notices when I lift him into bed. I turn the nightlight beside his bed on and leave his door open just a little.

With Emmett asleep and nothing else to occupy me, that niggling voice inside my head starts wondering what happened to Edward and the guys downstairs. I clean the kitchen and tidy up the living room, but by ten thirty I can't stand the wait anymore. I need to know what happened. Double checking that Emmett is fast asleep, I sneak out in the hallway, locking the apartment door behind me. The carpet in the hall, once dark green, is so thin I can feel the floorboards beneath my bare feet, and the cold air drifting up from downstairs makes me wish I'd worn socks.

It's dark out, but the lights are on in the entryway. Thankfully, it's empty; the guys are gone, and something inside of me relaxes when I don't find a bloody and beaten Edward slumped in a corner. But then that stupid voice inside my head creeps back in, wondering where he is.

I shake my head, rolling my eyes at myself. It's not any of my business where he goes.

Back upstairs, I stand outside my apartment door for longer than necessary, my hand reaching for the door handle. I can see Edward's apartment from where I stand, the gold 3C on his door glinting under the fluorescent lights.

I turn slightly, as if I might actually walk over and knock on his door. But I don't. Instead, I stare down the hallway for a moment longer before unlocking my door and going back inside.

* * *

The next morning I wake Emmett at seven, and we begin the morning routine.

I shower quickly while he watches TV, I throw my uniform on, and Emmett and I argue about what he'll wear. When he's finally dressed in something that isn't his Superman costume, he eats breakfast while I finish getting ready.

As we rush through the empty foyer, I catch Emmett glancing around nervously. Both the entryway and the parking lot are empty save for a few cars. I squeeze his hand gently and we keep moving, running the last few yards as the bus pulls up ahead of us.

The ride to Emmett's preschool is only twenty minutes, and even though he goes there four times a week every week, it still takes him ten minutes and at least a dozen kisses to let me leave. This morning it takes some coercing with finger paint to pull him away from me.

Once Emmett is sufficiently distracted enough for me to leave, I sign him in quickly and walk the six blocks to work. I arrive with just enough time to pin my name tag on and grab an apron.

Unlike my job at Blush, my days at the diner are easy, mindless work. I'm on my feet all day, but the customers are nice, and the work is so easy I could do it in my sleep. In fact, there are the rare days that after picking up a shift at the club, I'm pretty sure I've sleepwalked through entire shifts. I pour coffee, I wait tables, I wipe benches, I chat with the customers—it's not rocket science, but I enjoy it.

Just after two, after the lunch crowd has settled and Lauren and I are behind the counter refilling the napkins, Pete, the owner, steps out of the kitchen.

"Who opened this morning?" he asks, draping a dishtowel over his shoulder. His oil-splattered shirt is stretched tight across his chest and stomach, the buttons straining in their holes.

"Bella did," Lauren says, and when Pete turns to me I can see what's coming before he even has a chance to say anything.

He sighs, leaning against the counter top. "No chance that you could clock out early, is there, sweetheart?" He rubs a thick-fingered hand across his stubbly jaw line. "The accountant is on my back to cut down hours where we can. You know, with the new freeway and all."

The recently finished freeway that now connects the north and south end of the city has meant that a lot of the traffic that came our way has been diverted. The trucking routes in and out of the city have changed, and the heavy flow of customers we used to have has almost halved. I need the money as much as Lauren does, but I feel bad for Pete and his wife. We're running minimal staff as it is, but they're swimming in debt and I know what it's like to lie in bed and worry about how you'll pay your bills. I'm more than familiar with the feeling of dread that festers in your stomach when yet another bill comes in; when you have to decide whether to pay that utility bill or the childcare bill. Heat and electricity versus a job and decent care for my son—these are the things that keep me up at night, too.

"No problem," I say, reaching behind me to untie my apron.

"Don't be silly," argues Lauren, her hand on my arm. "You have Emmett. I'll finish early."

"It's fine," I tell her. "I can't stay to close anyway. Not with Emmett in care. And you're going to need the money when this baby of yours comes." I touch the side of her stomach gently, feeling the small bump that has begun to show beneath her dress.

Lauren smiles, resting a hand on top of her belly. "Are you sure it's okay?"

I nod, and Pete practically sighs with relief. "Things will pick up soon," he says, trying to sound optimistic. I'm sure even he can hear the lie in his voice. He makes me take a box of leftovers: half a blueberry pie and some meatloaf, and even sticks a wrapped sandwich into my jacket pocket for the bus ride home.

I've devoured the sandwich before I even make it to Emmett's preschool, and it takes all of my willpower not to take a bite out of the pie. The bus is all but empty when it pulls up, so we pick the seats that get the sun, and I sit with the box on my lap, watching the city go past.

We pull up alongside a shiny red Corvette, its sleek paint gleaming in the afternoon sun. It's in perfect condition, the finish spotless and the body immaculate, the perfect showpiece. It makes me think of Edward and his car, and then I'm thinking about the moment he showed up the night before. It's been a long time since anyone has done anything like that for me, and I can't help but be a little shocked and flattered. I need to do something to thank him, but I don't have any money to give him, or enough to even buy him something nice.

As the bus rumbles along, I try to piece together all of the little things about him that I do know. He keeps very strange hours, coming and going at odd times of the day. He's quiet; I never hear music or noises coming from his apartment. He drives an old Mustang, and I guess he must like it enough to take care of it since it's always clean and shiny.

Finally, I know that Edward lives alone. I never see him with friends or family. No kids, no girlfriends.

I sigh with frustration. Nothing I know about him helps me in any way. The only thing I can think of is that he's a guy, and regardless of what I do or don't know, there is one thing that I can do that will let him know how grateful I am for his help.

Men are easy to please; it's just working up the courage to actually do it that's the hard part.

* * *

It takes most of the bus ride for a plan to take shape, and by the time I get home with Emmett I've already psyched myself up to go over after he's asleep.

While Emmett is in the bath, no doubt covering the bathroom floor with bubbles, I pack the leftover pie into a container and wrap up the cold meat for the following night. I put the oven on the timer, and I have just enough time to read to Emmett and watch him fall asleep before it goes off.

With a few deep breaths, I grab what I need and check on Emmett one last time before I step out. I ease my front door closed quietly, making sure it's locked twice. Something in my stomach flutters as I knock on Edward's front door, and as soon as I do, I realize too late that I don't even know if he's home. As soon as he opens the door I kick myself for not tidying up before coming over. My feet are bare, and I'm wearing a huge old sweater I've had for years. Plus, I'm fairly sure I have marinara sauce on my cheek.

The door opens and he looks almost shocked to see me. He closes the door a little, blocking my view of the inside of his apartment.

"Hi," he says quietly, looking me over with curious eyes.

I smile nervously. "Hi. Um, I just wanted to say thank you for last night."

"Oh." Edward shakes his head slightly, frowning. "Don't... it's fine."

Smiling, I lift the foil-covered dish in my hands. "I made you something. It's nothing special, just lasagna."

Edward surprises me by stepping out into the hall, his larger hands taking the dish from mine. I pretend I don't see the raw skin on his knuckles. The faint bruise beneath the skin.

"You made it?"

I nod, tucking my thumbs into the back pocket of my jeans. "It was the least I could do."

His thin black thermal clings to his forearms, and as he lifts the container on top I catch a glimpse of the ink that covers the underside of his arm.

"There's pie, too," I say, pointing to the plastic container balancing on top of the oven dish.

Edward looks genuinely surprised. "Thank you," he says quietly.

"I'm Bella by the way," I say in a rush.

The corner of Edward's mouth ticks with an almost-smile. "Yeah, I know. I'm Edward."

I nod. "Yeah. I've seen you around the building."

Even though he hasn't said much at all, it's still the most I've ever heard him say and I can't understand why. His voice is quiet and calming, smooth but with just enough roughness to be considered masculine. It's a nice voice.

After that I'm not really sure what else to say. I'd really only gotten as far as coming over, but now that I'm here I can't seem to step away.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other. "So… uh… I hope those jerks didn't give you too much trouble."

Edward's eyes cut away from mine, and he shakes his head. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

"Cool. Well, thanks. You know, for talking to them or"—my eyes flicker down to his knuckles—"whatever. Next time they come back I guess I know who to call, right?"

Edward's smooth edges begin to harden right in front of me, and for just a moment I can see how some might find him intimidating. "I don't think they'll be back."

"Oh." I chance a look up at him, at the way his jaw clenches. "Yeah. Okay."

Edward looks away for a moment, his hands gripping the containers, and for just a second I take in his appearance, from the way his bare feet stick out from a pair of low slung sweats to the tattoo that's inked across his throat. Yeah, the ratty sweater and old jeans were a poor choice.

"How's the kid?" he says, looking up and very nearly catching me staring.

I smile, glancing back down the hallway toward my apartment. "Emmett? He's fine. He's pretty resilient." I can't help but laugh a little. "I gotta wonder who the adult is sometimes."

Edward nods, but stays quiet. It's not uncomfortable, the silence, but something about him makes my insides twist, and I don't know how I feel about that.

"Well, I'd better get back," I say, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. "I just wanted to say thank you again."

"Thank you for dinner," he says. I shrug like it was nothing, like I didn't spend all afternoon quietly freaking out over something as simple as a tray of lasagna.

I can feel him standing in the hallway behind me as I walk away, and I have to try my best to remember how to walk correctly and figure out how not to run into something or trip over.

Left. Right. Heel. Toe.

"Bella?"

I turn just as I reach my door. He's still outside of his apartment, the food in his hands. "Any time you need help just let me know."

I smile, and I don't know if it's a trick of the lighting in the hallway, but I think Edward blushes a little.

"I will. Thank you."

* * *

**Thank you, as always, to you for reading and for all of the great reviews. I'm really shitty at replying, but know that I read and appreciate each one. **

**Great big hugs to kitty, rach, astro and rach (yeah, I have TWO of them!)**

**x Wink**


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

* * *

"You can't find someone else to fill in?"

"There's no one left, Bella. Tia, Emily and Jamie are all in Vegas, and I can't get hold of Leah."

I rest my head against the back of the couch, closing my eyes. "She's probably holed up with Sam somewhere," I say with a sigh.

Tania snorts, and I can picture her rolling her eyes, her lash extensions brushing the skin beneath her eyebrows. "Exactly. Sam has the night off, too, so there's no way she's going to come in. Please say yes, Bella. I need you."

It's six o'clock on a Friday evening, and I'm curled up on my couch with Emmett sitting at my feet poring over the pages of _Where the Wild Things Are_, fascinated with the colors and pictures, while I flick through TV channels. My legs and back are aching from a week at the diner, and I was really looking forward to relaxing for a few hours before starting work again.

"Can I have a drink, Momma?" asks Emmett.

"Whatever you make in the first two hours is yours. Tips and all," says Tania.

I've already decided to go in—God knows I need the money—but there's something gratifying listening to her beg anyway.

"Juice?" I ask Emmett. He nods, and I busy myself with pouring his drink as Tania continues to plead with me.

"If you come in early I'll talk Marcus into giving you a Saturday off."

"Oh yeah?"

Now I know she's desperate.

"Sure! Why not. I'll work something out and you can take the night off. Go on a date or something!"

I pour the orange juice into Emmett's cup. "Right. My idea of a date is Emmett and a pint of ice cream."

"I keep telling you that I can set you up with someone if you want. I've got some clients—"

My mouth drops open. "Oh, God no. Tania—no. I'm fine. Thank you."

She laughs. "Okay, okay. But, when you decide to finally get bored of Chunky Monkey, you let me know."

My cheeks are stained pink and I can feel the heat from the blush as it creeps up my neck. I don't know why it embarrasses me to think about dating. I spend my nights around men; flirting, smiling, making conversation. I guess in the end it's all an act. It's not me. It's Rose. The thought of putting the real me out there after almost five years of being alone scares the hell out of me.

"I'll be there at eight," I say finally. "Let me call you back once I've got Emmett sorted, okay?"

"Thank you," says Tania, sighing with relief. "You're a peach. I'll see you soon."

I mumble a goodbye and toss the phone onto the kitchen table. Clearing away the toy cars and picture books, I set Emmett's juice down and sit on the floor beside him. His hair is still wet from the bath and is curling around his ears and the nape of his neck. It's ridiculously adorable and, if he let me, I'd spend hours pulling it straight just to watch it spring back again.

"Can you read the story to me?" I ask, nudging his side gently.

He's not old enough to read it all yet, but nevertheless he crawls into my lap and tells me all about the boy in his monster suit and all the other big monsters. When he's finished, we turn back to the start and I read it to him.

Unfortunately, I do have to get ready for work. An hour later, after a quick shower, I'm hairless head to toe, there's fresh paint on my finger and toenails, and my skin is clean and smooth—exfoliated and moisturized within an inch of its life. I flip my head over, letting my hair tumble forward as I blast it with the hairdryer. From between my legs I see Emmett wander into the bathroom and climb up onto the toilet seat beside the bathroom counter. I lift my head up and smooth out my bangs. It's completely pointless, since I'll have them tucked away under a wig in a few hours anyway, but something about having clean hair always makes me feel better.

I've dressed Em in his Iron Man pajamas, and he's got all of his things packed up for a night with Mrs. Eizadi downstairs.

"What are you doing, baby?"

"Nothin'," he says, watching me and fiddling with the makeup on the counter, opening things and putting them down. Before I know it, he's got a smear of bronzer on his cheek and the pads of the fingers on his left hand are stained pink from my blush.

I turn the hairdryer off, stowing it under the bathroom sink, and pull out a handful of makeup remover wipes for his hands. "You ready to go soon?"

"Can I come with you?" He scrunches his face up as I wipe the sparkly brown streak from his cheek.

"You don't want to see Neda and Amun?"

Clean and tidy again, Emmett turns to frown at his reflection in the mirror. "She doesn't let me watch the dinosaurs on TV."

I ruffle his hair, reaching into my makeup bag for my eyelash curler and mascara. "I'll let you watch your shows tomorrow, okay?"

He doesn't reply, instead content to make faces at himself in the mirror. We're both laughing at his silly faces when there's a knock on the door. I glance down at my watch, and the late hour makes my heart jump. Between messing around with Emmett and tidying myself up, I've completely lost track of time.

"Shit."

Emmett clamps his hands over his mouth, stifling a giggle behind them as I duck out of the bathroom.

"Momma said a naughty word!" he yells, laughing loudly.

"I know," I call back to him, mentally kicking myself. "Momma's sorry. No more bad words, I pr—"

The words die in my throat as I swing the front door open and find Edward standing outside. His hood is up, covering his face almost entirely in shadow. But even without the angular lines on show, I'd know that frame anywhere.

"Edward. Hi."

His hand slides up and he yanks his navy hood back, revealing dark auburn hair underneath.

"Hi."

A cold draft blows up from the stairwell, and I suddenly remember I'm standing there in just my underwear and a ratty pink dressing gown. I pull it tighter around me.

"I brought your tray back," he says.

"Oh." I reach for the glass dish in his hands. "You didn't have to do that."

Shrugging, his long fingers scratch through the hair that covers his jaw, and he opens his mouth to reply but stops short, his eyes fixing on a spot behind me.

I feel Emmett's hand wind around my thigh before I hear him, and when I look down he's staring quietly up at Edward. I place a reassuring hand on the top of his head, and he looks up at me and then back at Edward.

"You wanna say hi?"

Emmett murmurs a very quiet hello, burying his face into my leg.

"Emmett, right?" asks Edward, offering his hand to Emmett.

Something warm and tingly unfurls in my chest as the hand around my thigh loosens, and Emmett steps forward, looking at Edward's hand, more specifically the red raw skin on the back of his knuckles. "Did you get an oops on your hand?"

Edward flexes the fingers on his outstretched hand and nods. "Yeah, I did."

"Did it hurt?"

He nods again.

"When I get an oops, Momma puts the pictures on, and it makes it better."

I place a gentle hand on Emmett's shoulder. "Emmett likes the Avengers Band-Aids, don't you?"

Emmett nods and looks up at Edward again. Suddenly his eyes alight and he starts to wriggle beside me. I have to put my hand on his back to keep him steady. He tugs at my arm until I bend down so that he can whisper in my ear.

"Can we put the pictures on Edward's oops, Momma? To make it better?"

"I don't know if—"

"Please?"

There is absolutely no way I can say no to him when he's like this. He's wide-eyed and has his hands clasped together tightly, pleading with me. I laugh. "Okay. Think you can find them in the bathroom?"

He scampers away, almost tripping over a race car.

Edward and I linger quietly in the doorway while Emmett rifles through the bathroom drawers.

"The lasagna was okay?" I ask.

"It was great. Thank you." His gentle smile, and the way he tugs at his earlobe when he nods, makes my heart do a flip-flop behind my ribs.

"No problem." I clutch the tray to my chest, keeping my robe closed tightly. Again, a moment between us that could be awkward is just quiet. I can't think of anything else to say, but the silence doesn't seem to bother either one of us. He smiles again, looking almost bashful when I smile back.

Emmett returns a second later, holding a fistful of Band-Aids. He's practically vibrating at my feet as he hands them to me.

"Captain America or The Hulk?" I ask, offering them to Edward.

He considers the two Band-Aids in my hand. "The Hulk."

I hand the green Band-Aid to Emmett, and Edward bends down, folding his long legs beneath him. With a tiny bit of his tongue sticking out, Emmett peels the backing off carefully and sticks it gently to Edward's knuckles.

"There," he says with a satisfied smile, patting the back of Edward's hand. "All better."

Edward flexes his fingers again, nodding. "Feels pretty good." He stands, all six-foot-something of him unfolding. "Thanks, man."

Emmett is beaming, and watching him interact with Edward is turning my insides soft.

"Anyway," says Edward, glancing down at the dish that I'd completely forgotten was still in my hand. "I won't take up any more of your time. I just came to give you that."

_Time._

_My time._

_The time. _

"Oh, shoot. Shoot!" I hold a hand to my head, my mind racing. "What's the time?"

Edward pulls back the sleeve of his jacket and glances down at his watch. "Almost seven-thirty."

"Oh, God. I'm going to be so late." I grab Emmett and swing him back into the apartment, practically tossing the oven dish onto the kitchen table. "Do you have your things all packed up? Where's your backpack? Did you get your toothbrush?"

"S'in the bathroom, Momma."

I don't notice Edward still standing in the doorway until I turn around a few minutes later, my bag in one hand and a pair of jeans in the other.

"Did you…" Looking hesitant, he clears his throat quietly. "Do you need a ride somewhere?"

I wave my pants in his direction, tossing the overnight bag onto the couch. "Oh no, I'll call a cab—"

"A cab will take at least a half hour to get here." He shrugs. "Friday night."

He's so right. I don't know how I let it get as late as it is. Marcus is going to hand me my ass if I'm not there early. I take a deep breath in, letting it out slowly as I look at Edward warily.

"You really don't mind?"

His mouth curves up a little. "I really don't."

* * *

Edward waits patiently while I drop in at the Eizadi's. I hastily kiss Emmett goodnight, doing my very best to avoid Neda's inquiring gaze as she spots Edward in the hallway.

"See you soon, baby," I whisper, kissing him one last time.

It's not until we're almost halfway across the parking lot that I realize that I'll be taking a ride in Edward's car. Edward's very shiny, very beautiful car. The inside of the Mustang is just as well kept as the outside. The leather bench seats look brand new, and the interior paneling is clean and in perfect condition. I slide in, resting my bag at my feet.

"You really don't have to do this, Edward."

He shrugs. "I said I don't mind, right?"

And there's that half smile again.

The engine rumbles to life, and I can feel it purring through the whole car. Streetlights flash across the hood as he drives into the bright lights of the city.

"You work for Marcus, right?"

I nod. "Yeah."

We're both silent for a minute or so.

"The work's okay?"

Sighing, I drop my head back against the headrest. The night air smells of rain, and the scent mingles with the leather upholstery and something warm and comforting from beside me. "It pays the bills."

I've long since stopped caring what people think of my life choices, but for the first time in months I wish I worked at a regular bar instead. A bar where I could keep my clothes on, and where I wasn't pretending on a nightly basis to be the fantasy of any number of nameless, faceless men. The fact is, I care what Edward thinks, and the fact that I care makes me uncomfortable.

"Have you been to Blush before, Edward?"

He looks over at me from behind the wheel, his brows pulled together, and I smile in response. I close my eyes, feeling the cold air rush over my face, letting it cool my cheeks. "Of course you have."

I don't know why I keep talking, but I do.

"It's not the best place in the world to work, I know. But it keeps a roof over Emmett's head and food on the table. Marcus isn't too bad if you stay on his good side." I laugh. "Which I'm not, but whatever. I'm pretty good at it, too. I mean, I have regular customers and whatever. Plus the girls are really nice to work with."

_You're rambling. Stop rambling. Good God, stop rambling. _

It's not like I need to fill the silence between us, it's just that being in such close proximity to him, alone, in a confined space, is making me almost light-headed. Talking seems like it's the only thing I can do to keep myself present, to stop myself from floating right out the window.

I don't know what's come over me.

"What about you?"

He head checks before changing lanes. "What about me?"

"What do you do?"

His long fingers fiddle with the heating vents, and I suddenly feel a gust of warm air wash over me. The change in temperature makes me shiver.

"Cold?" he asks.

I shake my head. "Are you going to answer my question?"

We stop at a red light, and Edward adjusts the rearview mirror and shrugs. "I work for a friend. Doing odd jobs. Fixing things."

Talk about vague. "Things. Fridges? Cars? Bikes?"

It takes him a moment to respond. I watch from the corner of my eye as he rubs a hand almost pensively over his beard. "Cars mostly."

"So you're a mechanic?"

The light turns green and he shifts the car into first gear. "Yeah. I guess. How old is Emmett?"

I smile. "He'll be five soon."

"He seems older."

"Tell me about it."

The city flies by while something quiet and vaguely bluesy plays on Edward's radio. The vent at my feet keeps my toes warm while the night air keeps my face cool and my head clear. When Edward pulls into the parking lot of the club, I lift my overnight bag onto my lap, clutching the soft material to my chest, trying to hide my thumping heart behind it. I know I need to get out of the car, it just feels harder than it should to actually do it.

"Thanks."

One hand rests on the steering wheel as the car idles, the other reaches to turn the volume on the radio down. "Any time."

There's a long heartbeat of silence. Edward casts his eyes over the bag on my lap before meeting my gaze. I smile in response, because for some reason that's all I seem to be able to do when he looks at me. His gaze feels like the sun on my skin—warm and focused—and its intensity both frightens and excites me.

My fingers pull the door handle, and I slide my wobbly legs out. "Bye, Edward."

* * *

My mind is spun all night.

I can't get my head on straight no matter how hard I try. Every guy has a tattoo, and every pair of hands is too small, too weak, and too sweaty. One of the other dancers shoves a shot of whiskey into my hand, and I throw it back, hoping to shake off the haze that surrounds me, but it doesn't work. It barely touches the edges of whatever it is that is balled-up inside my chest, filling my mind with silly ideas. I tell myself that Edward is just being nice, that anyone in his situation would have done the same thing, and that I'm getting myself worked up over nothing.

But you can't tell a heart not to feel what it does. There are certain emotions that no matter how much you try to ignore them demand to be felt anyway. Lust is one of them. And how could it not be? A good looking–_insanely good looking_–guy pays you a little attention you can't help but feel the flutter and heat of attraction. It's a totally normal reaction.

Right?

By the time I clock out and drag my tired butt out of the club, I'm so out of it I almost don't notice his car sitting under the lights across the street. My stomach churns with anxiety, but my skin prickles with anticipation; it's a strange clash of sensation.

"Need a ride, babe?" asks James, one of the bouncers, throwing a heavy arm over my shoulder.

The Mustang's engine turns over with a roar, cutting through the still morning air.

I shrug out of James' touch, and shake my head. "No. I think I've got one. Thanks though."

He pouts dramatically, shrugging it off. "Whatever, girl. See you tomorrow night."

"Night."

As I approach, Edward leans across to unlock the door before settling back into his seat. I slide into the welcome warmth of the car, dropping my bag at my feet.

* * *

**Ooh, yeah I did.**

**Thank you to Kitty, Rach, Astro and Rach for being the best team a girl could ask for. Really. **

**Thank you to everyone who has left a review over the past few weeks. RL has been a bit of a bitch, so I'm down on the replies, and I apologize for that.**

**See you next week. On time. Promise. **

**x Wink**


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

* * *

I've never had to tell Tyler to keep his hands to himself. He's always been sweet, respectful, kind of attractive, and a gentleman to boot. He's become one of my regulars, and I find that I actually don't mind seeing him. In fact, I look forward to it. For him it's all about the human contact and the idea of a pretty girl paying him attention. He books the same private room each week, orders the same drinks, and pays me the same tip each time. We talk about anything and everything and if all of my clients were nice as him, my job would be a whole lot easier.

I slip in through the heavy curtain to find Tyler already sitting in the soft lounge seat with a glass of bourbon in his hand. He looks up and I smile, always happy to see a familiar face in a city full of strangers.

"Hey, sweetie."

His smile is bright and his eyes are heavy. "Hey, gorgeous."

Leaning in for a brief hug, I press my fingers to his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath them. "Long day?"

He shakes his head. "Long week. Eighty hours since Monday."

My eyes widen with concern, and I place my open palm against his scruffy cheek. "You're going to make yourself sick."

That's the nice thing about someone like Tyler; I don't have to pretend. My affection for the guy is genuine—it's not the same as lust or real attraction, but there's something gentle and almost boyish about him that calls to the mother in me. He's just begging for someone to take care of him, and in my own special way I do. He just pays me for it.

He shrugs, slipping the expensive suit jacket from his arms and draping it onto the seat beside him. "Let's not talk about work tonight," he says with a tired smile. "How's tricks?"

"Same old," I reply as my thumb slides down the screen of my mp3 player. Tyler's eyes light up when the song I pick starts up. I grin, flicking my hair over my shoulder. "An oldie but goodie, right?"

He watches me from his seat, his eyes drawn to my legs. Tyler is a leg man, and tonight I'm in a pair of sky-high, patent leather heels. They pinch my toes and make my calves cramp, but they also make my legs look long, and it's nice to be able to look guys in the eyes sometimes.

I don't fuss too much with Tyler. I dance a little, peeling my gauzy camisole off before sliding onto his lap. I rock and I grind, I press my hands to his chest and his arms, using his shoulders for leverage as I swivel my hips over his lap. He smiles through the whole thing, his hands respectful and his eyes soft as he rests his head back on the seat.

Something tells me that if I weren't here the guy would be fast asleep in two seconds flat.

Still, we talk a little—just the easy stuff: the weather, the basketball, the new flashy restaurants he's been to, and it's simple and nice.

But in the end his time come to an end, and he slips me my tip with a thank you before disappearing out into the club again. It's as easy as that.

Most of the time.

I don't know if there's a full moon approaching, but Saturday night the club is full of men absolutely begging to sink their money into top shelf drinks and expensive company. By one o'clock the place is packed, and I'm doing all I can just to stay on my feet. My calves are killing me and my lower back hurts, plus the push-up bra I'm wearing is pinching under my arms and if I weren't already being paid for it I'd rip it off.

Marcus has me on the main floor for a little while, sitting in lap, booking by dance card so to speak. About midnight I finish my turn on stage and spend a little time "mingling" before swapping out with Alice and taking my shift in the private area.

Blush is all about luxury settings and the illusion of complete privacy. Each room holds either a single seat or a circular booth that can hold up to four at a time. The clients wait their turn in a plush waiting area in the centre, where waitresses keep them plied with drinks so they're more likely to empty their wallets into our waiting hands. The private areas are watched over by security at all times, and there are cameras in each room with a feed back to security and Marcus' office.

Again, it's all about the _illusion_ of privacy.

A group of men—well, almost men—are waiting in the lounge, their eyes wide as the girls walk by.

"John?" I ask sweetly, fluttering my false lashes beneath my blonde bangs.

A timid-looking guy in the centre raises his hand. "Th-that's me."

I saunter over, letting him and his friends get a good look, and take a seat on the sofa beside the groom.

"Someone told me you're getting married next week."

He nods, swallowing hard enough that I see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

"Congratulations," I say with a coy smile and a hand on his knee. "Are you excited?"

His mouth makes a perfect little 'o', and his eyes pop open. "Like, am I turned on?"

His friends erupt into a fit of laughter, and I giggle. "No, silly. About the wedding!"

The guy lets out a breath and nods. "Yeah, I guess," he says with a blush. I laugh. The shy ones are always fun.

"Well, how about we have a little fun before you're officially off the market?" He nods. "Your friends were nice enough to pay for a private dance for you. Let me find somewhere so we can get started, okay, sweetheart?"

I pass a waitress on the way down the hall, and she promises to keep the stag party well liquored. Something about their designer shirts and expensive jeans tells me the boys aren't quite self-sufficient yet. There's always money to be spent when it's not yours, and to be honest, I don't really care where the money comes from, as long as they spend it.

Most of the curtains are drawn, the rooms behind occupied. It's a busy Saturday night, and private dances, especially with a group, can be good money. Not even bothering to check first, I draw the curtain back on room three, expecting it to be empty. A yelp escapes my lips before I have a chance to catch it, and my hand flies to my mouth.

Tania is on her knees in front of some guy who just looks up and grins at me as I stand there in shock.

"You wanna taste, baby girl?" he says.

With a wet pop, Tania lifts her head from his lap and turns to me.

"I'm sorry…" I whisper. "I didn't…"

With a look of contempt, she reaches back and yanks the curtain closed again, leaving me standing in the hallway.

I'm speechless.

There's always the possibility that Tania knows the guy, that they're friendly. But it's common knowledge that she's been screwing Marcus, so I have to think that there's also the distinct possibility that he's just some random guy. My head swims with questions like, is he paying her? Is he clean? How long has she been doing this? And worst of all, does Marcus know?

I force the thoughts to the back of my mind, trying my best to snap back to reality. I've seen some eye-opening things since I started working for Marcus, and the fact that this is what really shocks me really says something.

Thankfully, the groom ends up being an absolute doll. By the time I'm finished with him, his blush reaches from the tips of his ears all the way down his neck, disappearing into his shirt.

"Thanks," he says quietly as I lead him back out to the waiting room.

"My pleasure," I reply with a wink. "Good luck next week."

He's barely sitting before one of his friend stands, his hand in the air like a school kid. "Me next!"

Unfortunately, he's not quite the gentleman his friend is. When I push my ass back into his lap, his hands appear on my thighs.

"Watch your hands, handsome," I say, tucking them by his side again.

He apologizes, and I continue.

He watches with rapt fascination as I straddle his lap and press his head between my breasts. It's not my favorite thing to do, but it tends to keep his kind placated for a while. Of course, this isn't enough, and as soon as his head pops up again he grabs a handful of my ass. I stop dancing and grab his hands with mine. His eyes widen.

"Last chance, buddy," I warn, sounding a whole lot more direct than I did a moment ago. "Keep your hands to yourself, or there'll be trouble."

He nods vigorously. "Okay, sorry. Sorry."

He's got about five minutes left, but he's really pushed his luck, so I slide right off his lap and continue the dance in front of him, just out of reach. As he said he would, he keeps his word and his hands to himself.

Until he doesn't.

Figuring he can get one grab in before I leave the room, he attaches a sweaty hand to my right breast.

"Hey!" I yell, slapping it away. "Mike!" The curtain is whipped aside in half a second, and Mikey—a six-foot, two hundred-pound bouncer—steps in.

"Hands," I say, pointing at the guy, who's suddenly not so cocky when faced with a pair of fists the size of dinner plates.

Without so much as a word, Mikey rips the guy out of his seat by the back of his shirt. He stumbles and pleads, but it falls on deaf ears. "You were told not to touch," is all Mikey says as he drags him through the waiting room. He points a meaty finger at the bunch of guys, including the shocked groom.

"All of you," he booms. "Out."

I don't need to follow them to know what happens. I've seen Mikey toss men a good eight feet out the side door and onto the bitumen.

"You good?" he asks when he returns.

"I'm fine," I say, patting him on the bicep that's the size of my head. "Thanks."

You'd think guys like that would rattle me, and at first they did. I'd spend the rest of the night jittery and upset, scared that every guy after that would be the same. But now, after being at Blush for almost six months, I've seen it all. It's become part of the job, par for the course. Do I like it? No. But it happens. The alcohol we so readily ply them with turns some guys into heroes, into cavemen, or just into idiots. The fact of the matter is, no matter how big they think they are, or how tough they think they are, there's always someone bigger and tougher on the other side of the curtain just waiting for the opportunity to beat a little sense back into them.

The rest of the night is uneventful. I make decent tips, and Marcus is actually happy, which means that the girls are happy, which means that everyone is happy.

Shut-out rolls around quickly, and even though I should know better, as I'm packing up I can't help but wonder if there will be a car waiting for me tonight.

The ride home the night before had been quiet except for the purr of the engine and the low hum of the radio.

_"__You didn't have to pick me up," I'd said, smiling at him in the grey light of early morning._

_He turned to me briefly, something soft and sleepy about his expression. "I was awake anyway."_

_I laughed. "Liar."_

_I watched from the corner of my eye as his hand reached for the gearstick between us. I had to hide my smile when I noticed the green Bandaid still stuck to his knuckles. The grey morning rolls past as the Mustang purr through the foggy city streets. _

_Instead of parking the car, he had practically driven me to the door._

_"__You're not coming in?" I'd asked, immediately feeling stupid. This wasn't a date, you idiot. _

_Edward shook his head. "Early start."_

_I'd wanted to ask what was so urgent that it had to be done at six a.m. on a Saturday morning. But I'd swallowed my curiosity instead. "Thank you for the ride." _

_His reply had been a soft shrug of one shoulder, a gentle smile curving his lips up a little, and the look had stained the back of my eyelids, appearing every time I closed my eyes._

I feel stupid for hoping he's there again tonight. Hope can be a dangerous thing—especially when it comes in such attractive wrapping. But that little spark buried deep inside of my chest, that tiny little blossom of… something… that's ignited inside of me, feels good. And as stupid as it feels, I want to hold on to it, even if just for a moment.

Marcus slips me my envelope as I'm leaving, and I'm pleased to find it contains exactly what it should tonight.

"Good work with those assholes in the stag party, Bella," he says, nodding stoically. "See you tomorrow night."

I can't help but smile. That's about as close to a thank you from Marcus as I'm ever going to get. "Thanks."

"Nice work tonight, babe," says Marcus, tapping Tania on the backside lightly. She smiles, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

It doesn't escape my notice that her envelope is especially thick.

I step outside, trying my best not to look like I'm searching for a black Mustang, and then trying to hide the streak of disappointment that shoots through me when it's not there.

The morning is verging on icy, and I pull my coat tighter around me. It feels good to be in flat shoes again—albeit a little lower to the ground—but my legs are screaming for a hot shower, and my bones ache to be in bed.

Alice follows me out, and the two of us stand at the curb together, her smoking a cigarette, me with my arms wrapped tightly across my torso in an attempt to keep warm. We both watch as a group of drunken girls stagger past, all giggles and messy hair. Heels dangle from their fingertips, and they all look worse for wear. They spot Alice and me waiting outside the club, and the happy-go-lucky demeanor fades.

"Sluts," says one, too loud to be a real whisper.

I ignore them, but Alice flips them her middle finger.

"Can I ask you a question?" I ask her quietly, ignoring the girls as they stumble away.

She nods, the cigarette dangling from her mouth.

I mash my lips together, trying to think of the best way to ask without getting anyone in trouble.

"Have you noticed anything shady going on lately?"

Alice snorts. "You mean more shady than usual?"

A cab pulls up to the sidewalk, and I open the back door. "Well, yeah."

The cherry from Alice's cigarette disappears into the foggy morning air as she flicks it aside. "Like what?"

"You gettin' in?" yells the driver.

I toss my bag onto the back seat. "Yeah, just give me a minute." I turn back to Alice. "Like any of the girls taking money for"—I let out a shaky breath—"sexual favors? Blow jobs and stuff?"

A little crease appears between Alice's eyebrows. She tucks her dark hair behind an ear, looking at the ground.

"Ali?"

"I've heard some things. That's all."

"Heard what?"

She shrugs one shoulder. "Marcus has been throwing private parties. Leah said he asked her to go; said she could earn some extra money on the side."

"Did she go?"

Alice shakes her head. "I guess she spoke to one of the other girls first. She didn't say exactly what was happening, but I got the idea that Marcus was paying some of them to sleep with guys."

"Oh my God."

"Did you see something?"

I nod, unwilling to give away any further information that could get me in any more trouble.

"Yo, doll, the meters running here!" calls the cabbie.

"Okay, okay." I reach out and take Alice's hand, squeezing it between both of mine. "Please don't get involved with any of that shit, Alice."

Alice shakes her head, and her dark hair falls over her face. The gesture makes her look her age—so young and naïve. "No way."

"Promise me."

She rolls her eyes, but nods anyway. "I promise."

My head is still spinning, even as I slip quietly into the Eizadis' apartment to pick up Emmett.

I pull back the covers and slip my arms under his back. I almost groan with the effort of lifting him from the bed, doing my best to shoulder his backpack and mine without dropping him. He's dead weight in my arms, his limbs limp with sleep, his head lolling against my shoulder.

I climb the stairs slowly and stand outside my front door for what feels like forever, fumbling with my bag, trying to find my keys. It's never easy, but for some reason tonight I just can't seem to juggle everything and work my hands at the same time.

"Want some help?"

My arms tighten instinctively around Emmett, and I spin around, my heart racing.

Edward takes a step back. "Sorry," he says quietly, lowering his hood.

"You scared the crap out of me," I whisper, smiling shakily, even though my heart is just about ready to leap out of my mouth.

He motions to my front door. "Can I help?"

"Oh. Um… could you grab the keys out of my bag, please?"

I lift one of the arms I have around Emmett, and Edward gingerly slips his hand inside my handbag, searching for my house keys. As soon as he does, I regret it. I can't imagine the things he's likely to find in there: Wet Wipes, candy wrappers, old packs of gum, a thousand old receipts, tampons, and probably one of Emmett's toys.

Thankfully, he finds the keys quickly.

"The silver one."

As usual, the hallway is shadowy, but even so when he turns to the door I catch a glimpse of a cut beneath his eye that looks fresh, the skin around it almost purple. He pushes the door open and then steps aside for me. When he looks up I can't hide my curiosity as I look over his face, cataloguing the new cut on his cheek and the small nick on his bottom lip.

"Everything okay?" I ask, hoisting Emmett up higher on my hip.

Swallowing, Edward takes a little step back, allowing me to enter my apartment. He looks genuinely thrown at my concern. He nods, looking somewhat flustered and uncomfortable.

There's a long, deep silence between us.

Even with this latest round of marks on his otherwise lovely skin, there's still something soft about the way he looks at me. It makes me feel exposed like nothing has before.

"Would you like to come over for dinner tonight? I'm making hamburgers."

The words are out of my mouth before I have a chance to think about them. I wait for him to politely decline. Heaven knows he must already think I'm a total flake—stripper by night, single mother by day. But his answer surprises me.

"What time?"

"Six?" I practically whisper, the words caught in my throat. I clear it quickly, repeating myself. "Six? It's early, I know, but Emmett goes to bed at seven thirty, and I have to be at work by nine."

"Six is fine," he replies with a single nod, handing me my house keys back. "I'll be here."

I smile, and his eyes flicker to my mouth momentarily before moving away. "Okay."

He flips the hood on his jacket up and takes a step back toward the stairs. "Okay."

* * *

**Slowly, slowly. **

**Thank you to my girls Rach and Rach, Kitty and Astro. Any mistakes are mine. **

***The "oldie but goodie" that Bella references in this chapter is 'Girl Like You' by Edwyn Collins. Classic.**

**Thank you for reading. As always, i'm so very grateful. **

**x Wink**


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Six**

* * *

I sit the bowl full of hamburger mix on the kitchen table beside Emmett. "You have to mix it really well, okay?"

He smiles almost manically, his hands hovering over the bowl. "With my hands?"

"Did you wash them like I asked?"

Emmett nods furiously, holding his hands out for closer inspection. I know they're clean but check anyway—who knows what the kid's had his hands in. Satisfied, I gesture to the bowl of minced meat and onion. "Go on then."

He immediately digs his hands into the mix, giggling as it squishes between his fingers. It would have taken me two and a half seconds to mix it myself, but Emmett loves to help, and it keeps his little hands out of mischief.

I've intentionally kept both of us busy in a vain attempt to stop myself from completely freaking out, but there's only so much cleaning that can be done in our tiny apartment.

I don't know which part of my sleep-deprived brain thought it was a good idea to invite Edward over for dinner, but as I glance at the clock for the eighteen thousandth time I'm becoming more certain that it was a really bad idea. I've contemplated canceling at least twice, but can't bring myself to do it. While part of me screams that inviting a stranger into my home is a bad idea, a louder, more insistent part of me craves the company of another adult.

And not just any adult—an Edward-shaped adult.

What's more frustrating is that up until I met him, I'd made the decision not to care about what people think of me and of my choices. My life hasn't been easy, and at times it's definitely not what others would have chosen for themselves, or for their children. But I do what I do to keep Emmett safe and cared for, so to hell with what everyone else thinks of me. But for some stupid reason I'm worried about what Edward thinks. What will he see when he looks at my apartment? When he sees my well-used second hand furniture, and the walls that are water-stained beneath the peeling wallpaper? For so long I've been living in this little bubble I've created that the idea of letting someone in, of letting someone see inside, is terrifying.

There's also Emmett to think about. He's had very little contact with men since his Dad, and although he seemed to be comfortable enough around Edward when they met, I have to be sure he's going to be okay with him in our home.

I watch his hands disappear and reappear into the mincemeat.

"Looking good, baby. Well done." He smiles, giving the mix one last poke with his finger. "So, you remember Edward from down the hall?" I ask.

He looks up. "With the pictures on his hands?"

I smile. "Yeah. He's going to come over for dinner tonight. What do you think?"

A thoughtful look crosses Emmett's features. "Does Edward like hamburgers?"

"I'm not sure," I reply, trying to read Emmett's reactions. "I guess we'll find out, won't we?"

Emmett nods, looking serious. "I guess."

We shape the meat mix into patties ready for cooking.

"Does Edward go to school like me?" he asks.

"No. Adults don't go to school, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. I renember."

"Edward fixes cars."

"Cars like in the movie? Like Lightening?"

"Sort of, yeah."

He's quiet for a moment while I clean off his hands.

"Is his hand all better?" he asks. So many questions! But it can only be a good thing.

"I'm not sure," I reply. "You'll have to ask him when he comes over."

"He got The Hulk."

I nod, making sure I've cleaned off any stray bits of beef mince.

"The Hulk make my oopses feel better."

I kiss his clean fingers. "He sure does. Why don't you put your cars away then we'll read some of your book, okay?"

He pouts. "Do I have to?"

I turn him around, facing him toward his bedroom. "Yes."

"Mommaaaaa!" he whines.

"Go. I'll be in there in five minutes."

It's mid-afternoon by the time he settles down for a nap, and I can't help but be thankful for a little space to clear my head. I love my son more than anything in the world, but sometimes a girl needs to shower without an audience. Even so, I keep the door open a little just in case.

The hot water eases some of the tension in my muscles, and I can almost feel them relax beneath my skin. The pipes protest and whine and the water pressure is practically non-existent, but with Emmett asleep for at least another half an hour I relax into the spray, enjoying the feeling of the heat on my skin. I take my time going through my routine, the preparation that has become second nature now. I exfoliate and shave, I shampoo and condition—the whole time letting my mind wander.

Of course, the first thing on my mind today is Edward.

I'm doing my best to approach thoughts of him like an adult, but the blushing, the butterflies, the shot of attraction that rushes through me whenever he's around, it all makes me feel like I'm seventeen again. It's been so long since I've felt anything like it that it's almost foreign, like my body has to relearn how to deal with it without falling into a heap of melted skin and bone.

Things with Emmett's father, Eric, were different—a different time, a different life. I was so young, and everything about our relationship had been all-consuming as teenage love usually is. My whole world revolved around him, around _us_. Until Emmett came along. By then things with Eric and I had changed. I never thought I would love anyone the way I'd loved him.

Now, almost four years later, feelings like lust and attraction, feelings I was sure had been buried the day Eric left, are beginning to resurface, and I have no idea what to do with them.

I sigh, turning the faucet off. Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. It's nothing but a passing crush. It's just freakin' hamburgers for God's sake!

Emmett sleeps soundly as I blow out my hair, but wakes just as I finish getting dressed. He rubs a fist into his sleepy-eyes, his blonde hair sticking out every which way. "Can we have hamburgers now?"

I laugh, smoothing his hair down. "Soon, baby."

* * *

At exactly six o'clock, as I'm slicing up the fillings for the burgers, there's a knock on the front door. Every part of me leaps to attention, and I have to make a concerted effort to keep from running to answer it. Emmett however, is at the door before I am.

"Can I open the door?"

Stopping just in front of the door, I tuck my hair behind my ears and blow out a breath to calm myself.

"Sure, go ahead."

I slide the chain lock off, and Emmett reaches up to open the door. It swings open and al at once I realize I am so very unprepared for this.

The sight of Edward standing in my doorway makes my stomach do a flip. The long-sleeved navy thermal he's wearing makes his skin look vibrant, almost luminous. He's so good looking that it's almost alarming. I'm not sure where to look; from the worn jeans to the dark hair that covers his jaw line, to the bright green of his eyes, it's all too much.

I step aside to let him in, trying to stand on wobbly knees as he brushes past, bringing with him the smell of soap and clean, warm skin. Images of him and hot, soapy water flash before my eyes, and I have to hide the blush that creeps up my neck.

_Calm. Down. _

"Say hello to Edward, Emmett."

Emmett creeps out from behind me, his blue eyes wide. "Hello," he says quietly.

"Hey," replies Edward.

I usher him in, and as soon as he's inside I can see him cataloguing everything from my lumpy brown sofa to the pile of kid's toys in front of the TV. He doesn't hide his curiosity in the slightest, and watching take it all in makes me want to crawl up inside that attractive head of his just to see what he's thinking.

But then he looks at me.

He looks at me and the weight of his eyes and the intensity of his gaze make me happy that I can't read his mind. His nearness and the reaction it creates inside of me is enough, I don't know if I would live through hearing what he's thinking.

I tug my fingers through my bangs nervously, trying to swallow my sudden anxiety. "Would you like a drink? I've got water or juice."

"Water's fine," he replies, and I busy myself with finding a clean glass.

"Do you like hamburgers?" asks Emmett, his head tipped to one side as he follows Edward and I to the kitchen.

Edward nods. "They're my favorite."

Emmett is ecstatic. "Me too!" He bounces a little on the spot before coming around beside me. "Are they ready yet?"

"Almost," I say. "Go and wash your hands please." He takes off for the bathroom, leaving Edward and I alone.

"What about you?" I ask, gesturing to Edward's hands that are tucked into the pockets of his jeans. "Are your hands clean?"

I meant it as a joke—I'm sure Edward washes his hands—but as Edward looks down at his hands something dark flashes behind his eyes, disappearing almost as quickly as it appeared. I watch as he balls his hands into fists and releases them, his eyes clearing as he looks at me again. "Probably not clean enough."

I look down at his hands and back up at him. There's a beat of silence in which I get the distinct feeling that Edward and I are talking about different types of dirt. Memories of the argument between he and the men outside our building flash through my mind, and I wonder if that wasn't the only time Edward has been involved in something like that.

My eyes flick to the tiny cut on his lower lip and the bruise that still darkens the skin beneath his right eye.

When I meet his eyes again, there's intensity behind his stare that makes my cheeks flame and my chest tighten. It feels like he sees everything. Like every little thing I keep hidden, tucked away for safe keeping, is exposed to him. That alone is enough to set the alarm bells ringing.

I have so much to lose to someone like Edward—so much to keep safe.

"All clean!" says Emmett, startling me as he appears between Edward and I.

"You better sit down," I say, gesturing to the table and tearing my eyes from Edward's. "Emmett will steal your dinner if you're not careful."

Emmett giggles, oblivious of the weight in the air around him, as he lifts himself up into his seat. "I'ma steal your burger, Edward!"

Edward takes a seat beside Emmett, folding his long legs beneath the small table. He looks so completely out of place in my tiny kitchen, his knee jiggling nervously as if he's ready to take flight at any moment.

Meanwhile, I'm trying my hardest to remember how to breathe normally.

Dinner is quiet, but nice. Although in honesty, the food could taste like sawdust and I wouldn't realize.

My eyes flick between Edward and Emmett, lingering on Edward's long fingers and the tip of his tongue as it swipes ketchup from his lower lip. Emmett meanwhile has turned into a chatterbox—which is new. He's usually Chatty Kathy with me, but I hadn't expected it with Edward around. He sits in the chair across from Edward, his short legs swinging as he chatters away, his eyes taking in every last detail of our guest. As Emmett and Edward talk quietly, I have to wonder if something inside of my quiet-souled little boy sees something similar in Edward.

I can barely get a word in as Emmett asks a million and one questions, the shy little boy I know so well long forgotten.

"Where's your momma?"

Edward swallows, sitting straighter in his chair. "She's at her house," he replies. "Probably cooking dinner like your momma did."

"What about your daddy? Do you have a daddy?"

Edward nods, and I watch as he picks the slices of tomato out of his burger with his long fingers, laying them to the side. "He's at home with my mom."

"I have a daddy," says Emmett, and I swear that my whole body tenses at mention of Emmett's father. "Momma said he was bad so he had to go away, and—"

"Emmett. Enough." It's a quiet warning, but one that he listens to, thankfully.

Em continues with barely a pause. "Yeah, it's just me and my momma."

Edward's eyes meet mine across the table, his look brief and apologetic. "That's cool," he says toying with the last piece of his hamburger bun. "Your mom's pretty cool."

My ears flush so hot i'm surprised they're not glowing.

"She's okay," replies Em with a shrug, and I can't help but laugh. Edward stifles a laugh, too, hiding behind his hand as he rubs it across his mouth gently.

"Momma said you fix Lightening like in the movies," says Emmett around a mouthful of burger.

My hand flies to my mouth to stop from spitting my food out as I laugh. "No, honey, I said he fixes cars _like_ Lightening McQueen."

"Do you?" asks Emmett.

Edward nods. "You like cars?"

Emmett shrugs, picking at the remains of his dinner the same way Edward is. "I like dinosaurs the most. But, I like cars, too."

Edward's brows raise with interest, and I realize that he seems to be just as fascinated with Emmett as Emmett is with him. He watches with an almost-smile as Emmett licks the last of the ketchup from his plate.

"Emmett," I warn, raising an eyebrow. "Manners."

He puts his plate down. "Sorry."

"Maybe I'll take you for a ride in my car one day," suggests Edward.

"Does it go as fast as Lightening?"

Edward smirks a little, the attractive quirk of his upper lip sucking all of the air out of my lungs. "Faster."

Emmett's eyes widen, and he looks back and forth between Edward and I. "Faster?" he whispers. Edward nods. "Can we go now? Can we, Momma? Please?"

"Baby—"

"Pleeeeease? Please, please, please?"

"Thanks," I mouth to Edward, who lowers his head, hiding a smile. "Another time, okay?"

He pouts. "Promise?"

"Another time, Emmett." I stand, clearing the plate from in front of him. "How about you go and watch some TV, okay, buddy?"

Placated, Em slides off his seat and scampers to the TV.

I don't know what I expected Edward to do. While I figured he wasn't the eat-and-run kind, I definitely didn't expect him to roll his sleeves and help me with the dishes.

His forearms are slim but strong, covered with the kind of tattoos you could look at for hours, trying to find where one ends and another begins. They wind around each of his forearms, and while one ends at his wrist, leaving his hand clean, the back of his other hand is adorned with a large blue sparrow. Watching his hand paper and disappear into the soapy water, I wonder briefly how much of him is covered with these pictures, what parts of the skin underneath his clothes are clear of ink, and what parts are covered with his stories.

"Bella?"

"Hm?"

I look up to find Edward holding his hands out. He gestures to the plates in my hands.

A blush creeps up my neck at being caught looking, but if he notices he doesn't say anything. I step behind him, rolling my eyes at my stupidity behind his back. I settle against the sink beside him, the dish cloth in hand. He swoops the cloth over the dishes methodically, his hands turning pink in the hot water.

"How long have you worked for Marcus?" he asks, his voice terribly quiet for someone who fills the kitchen up so completely.

"About six months. How do you know him?"

He drops his gaze. "I don't really. I only know _of_ him."

"Oh."

We're silent for a beat, with nothing but the sound of the bubbles in the sink popping.

"Would you like a ride to work later?"

Warmth unfurls in my chest, seeping into my veins like honey. I'm not used to someone doing nice things for me all the time. "No. But thank you." I pick a plate up from the drying rack. "I'm happy to catch a cab."

Edward nods but keeps his head down, his gaze a little too intense for washing dishes. He rests another plate in the rack, his arm brushing mine.

"You don't have a car?" he asks.

"I do, but it's broken."

He lifts one brow, his head still turned to the bubble-filled water. "Broken?"

"Yeah. Broken," I reply, nudging his side gently, teasing. "It's the timing belt, I think."

"What makes you think it's the belt?"

I consider telling him that my ex and his friends spent their lives working on cars. That during my teenage years I'd spent so much time hanging around them that I've somehow gleaned the barest amount of knowledge—enough to know that it's the timing belt. But Eric and thoughts of that time in my life don't belong here tonight.

"Well, it stalls all the time, and the engine makes this loud, whining noise."

Both of his eyebrows rise this time. He looks a little impressed. "Sounds like you're right."

I can't help but laugh a little. "Yeah, well. Don't be too impressed, I googled it."

"I could fix it, you know."

"I know. But if I could afford to have it fixed I would have."

Edward pulls the plug from the sink, and the bubbles swirl and eddy until the water disappears completely with a gurgle. "I wouldn't charge you, Bella."

I stack Emmett's plastic plate into the cupboard beside the sink. "And I wouldn't let you do it for free, Edward. It's a nice gesture, but it's too much."

I cringe inwardly at my stubborn tone.

"It wouldn't be for free," he says quietly, turning to rest against the sink next to me.

"Oh?" I lean back, resting my hands on the counter top.

A small smile tugs at the corners of Edward's mouth, lifting it just a little at one side. "I'd take some more of that lasagna as payment."

I laugh, and Edward's smile widens just a little bit more. It's then that I decide that I really want to kiss him. Something about his mouth, and the way he uses it, makes me want to press my lips against his. The thought causes a flash of desire to wash over me, it burns through my blood like fire, and makes my head spin with the intensity.

If this is what happens when I _think_ about kissing him, I can't imagine what it would feel like to do it.

As if he feels the sudden burst of heat through me, Edward's gaze softens, lingering just a beat on my lips before he turns away again. This new feeling of desire leaves me nervous, and I can't help but wonder what it is he sees when he looks at me like that.

"Thank you for dinner," he says, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't know the last time I had burgers so good."

I laugh. "They were just hamburgers. And it's fine. I don't know the last time we had company. It was nice."

When Edward looks at me again, his hands balled up beneath biceps. "It was nice."

I've never hated the word _nice_ so much in my life.

The sound of my phone ringing breaks the silence between us, and as much as I would love to stay in the quiet little bubble with Edward, I have to pry myself away.

I swipe my finger across the screen to answer the call. "Hello?"

"Miss Bella?"

I look down at the display on my phone, frowning at the unfamiliar number before pressing it back to my ear.

"Neda?"

"I'm so sorry. So sorry," she says, sounding frantic. "I no look after Emmett tonight. Amun is in hospital. Is sick."

"Oh, no. Is he going to be okay?"

I see Edward approach in my peripheral vision.

"Doctor is running tests now. Stupid Doctor here know nothing. They test and they test and then nothing!"

"Is there anything I can do?" I ask, my heart aching for her. I know she plays the grumpy housewife a lot, but she and Amun have been married for over forty years and I can't imagine how she's feeling.

She mumbles something that's a mix of Farsi and English, and I can imagine her shaking a gnarled fist at passing hospital staff. "No, Miss Bella, you must look after Emmett. I cannot look after tonight. So sorry."

"Don't be silly," I reply. "It's fine. Call me when you know more, okay?"

"Okay. Give Emmett big kiss for me."

"I will."

I hang up, staring at my phone as the consequences of the phone call begin to sink in.

"Is everything okay?"

I hadn't expected Edward to be so close, so when I turn and find him right beside me, warmth flushes my cheeks. He's _so_ close. His brows are pulled together slightly and his lips are turned down a fraction, and I'm so close that I could probably count each of his long dark lashes.

"Yeah." I swallow hard, trying to find the voice that's stuck somewhere in my throat. "Um… not really. Mrs. Eizadi's husband is in hospital."

"The couple from downstairs?"

"Yeah. They look after Emmett on the weekends while I'm at work."

Understanding seeps into Edward's expression. He tucks his hands into the front pocket of his jean. "Oh."

Without Neda or Amun there's no one to look after Emmett while I'm at work. It's a precarious situation only having the one babysitter, but they're all I have. Especially at eight thirty on a Sunday night.

"Is there anyone else you can call? Edward asks. "Family?"

My answering smile is weak at best. "No. It's just us." I try a little harder to smile. "It's fine. I'll just call work. Marcus will understand."

The thought of having to call Marcus makes my stomach churn with anxiety. He will most definitely not understand. But what else is there to do? It's not like I can take Emmett into work with me.

"I can stay and look after him."

"Oh, no, Edward, I couldn't—"

"I don't mind."

I glance over at Emmett. He's on his stomach with a pile of Matchbox cars, his attention split between them and the movie. "I don't know, Edward."

He's close again, right beside me. "It's up to you," he says quietly. "But I'm happy to put him to bed here and wait with him until you get home."

I worry the inside of my cheek with my teeth. I really can't afford to lose a night's wage. It is only a few hours, and Edward is right; Emmett will be asleep within the next few hours.

But can I trust him?

I feel his warm fingers press against the back of my hand. It's just the slightest pressure, a feather-light brush against my skin, but I feel it all the way to my toes.

"You can trust me, Bella."

* * *

**Thank you to everyone for your kind words. To Rach, Rach, Kitty and Astro for their support. And to Rob for being the best kind of inspiration a girl could want.**

**And now, a little shameless plugging for something close to my... heart? The Twilight Kink Fest is back and better than ever. I won't ramble about it too much, but i'm super excited and can't wait to see the fics that come out of it. Check out twi kinkfest. Blogspot dot com dot au for all the info, or TwiKink on Twitter. **

**x Wink**


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **This chapter, and all of the ones preceding it are mine, however Twilight is not. Carry on...

* * *

"_You can trust me."_

Edward's words echo in my ears all the way to work.

"…_trust me."_

The word _trust_ in particular bounces around my head like a pinball.

I've become accustomed to relying on myself, on my ability to be self-sufficient, which up until now has worked out just fine. Only now, there's this guy—this stranger—that's throwing me for a loop. He's thoughtful, and kind, and though his exterior screams _stay away_ he's gentle and sweet, and completely compelling. But at the same time; he's a stranger. I've known him for mere weeks and I just left my son with him in my apartment and oh my God what have I done?!

I contemplate asking the taxi to turn around at least three times, but can't seem to get the words out of my mouth. By the time I get to work my chest is tight and my stomach is clenched so hard I feel like I might vomit.

"You're early."

Leah is covered in a light sheen of sweat, and her dark skin shines under the fluorescent lighting of the dressing room. She flops into a seat, puffing as she tosses a handful of notes onto her dressing table. Since she's been working at one of Marcus' other clubs for a few weeks, I've not seen her around for a while. She's loud, a bit rude, and a lot fierce, and I hadn't realized how much I missed her until now.

"Hello to you, too."

I shove my bag into my locker, but pull my phone from the side pocket. "Is Marcus around?"

"Nah," she says, reapplying powder to her face. "Tania is though."

I glance back to see a thin strip of light visible beneath Marcus' office door. I'd been hoping to catch him early, maybe wrangle my way out of half of my shift so that I can get back to Emmett. It's not unlike him not to be here, it's just that it's the first night I've actually wished he was.

I turn back to Leah, glancing down at the darkened screen on my phone. "Sam in tonight?"

She smiles, sorting her tips into small piles: one for her, one for Marcus, one for the bouncers, and, most likely, one for Sam.

"He's out front."

Leah's only problem is her boyfriend, our in-house DJ. Sam's a part time player with a full time drug habit, and Leah is just the latest in a string of short term girlfriends. She's strong, independent and will happily break balls if she needs to, but when it comes to Sam she simply will not be told. She's completely blinded by her loved for him. It's like watching a train wreck in slow motion and there's nothing I can do but watch it happen and hope it doesn't completely destroy her.

I press the home button on my phone, hoping to see a message or a phone call but there's nothing.

_It's been forty-five minutes_, I tell myself. _They're fine. Emmett is fine. _

The side door swings shut with a loud bang, and both Leah and I turn to watch Tia, a ring-in from the Vegas club, saunter into the dressing rooms. She's tall, blonde, a deep shade of sun bed-infused brown, and has the biggest breasts I've ever seen. If I didn't know her I'd think she was a total air-head. But I do. And she's not. She's sweet and intelligent, and has a boy about Emmett's age. I guess that's just the stigma that comes along with being a stripper. Women think we're whores and men think we're easy, when really we're just regular women with families and lives and mortgages and loans and bills to pay like everyone else.

"Evening, ladies," she says, dropping her bag at her feet before swooping in for a hug.

Her arrival softens the tight feeling in my stomach a little, and as she follows me into the change room I let our simple conversation take my mind off of Emmett. For one moment we're just two girls gossiping about makeup and clothes, doing our hair and getting dressed up. It's moments like this that make me realize how much I've missed having another girl to talk to.

Tia laces a bright red corset up, pushing her chest up so high her boobs are practically tucked beneath her chin.

"So. Who is he?"

My head swivels around so quickly I'm surprised it doesn't fall right off. "Who's who?"

She gestures to the phone in my hands. "You've checked that, like, eight times in the last five minutes."

I can feel the blush creeping up my chest. I toss the phone back into my locker and cover it with my jeans. Out of sight, out of mind.

"You're crazy," I reply, adjusting my stockings and trying to look distracted.

Tia looks at me knowingly, with a wry smile that says she can see right through me. "Uh-huh."

Closing the locker, I slip my shoes on. While it's nice to gossip like two regular girls, I don't want to be the topic of said change room gossip; especially not here where I try so hard to keep my private life private.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Tia's laughter follows me out of the change room.

"Still no Marcus?" I ask Leah, who's now sitting with her long legs on the dressing table, flipping through a magazine. I'm sure she's probably supposed to be out on the floor, I don't know—working, but it's well-known that she and Marcus don't see eye-to-eye, and without him around she mostly does as she pleases.

"You got a girl boner for Marcus tonight, B?"

I wrinkle my nose. "No. I just need to talk to him."

She sighs. "I'm sure he'll drag his vile ass in at some point."

I adore Leah, I do. But as much I love her, I really hope I'm not around when Marcus decides he's had enough of her attitude.

At almost nine o'clock the club is still relatively quiet. Some of the tables are half full, and there are a few guys at the bar hanging around, but it's too early in the night for private dances, and judging by the glasses of cheap beer in their hands half of them wouldn't be worth my time anyway.

I can feel eyes on me as I walk toward the bar, feel the warmth of the lust-filled gazes. Tonight, Rose is dark seduction in black lace and thigh-high stockings, with dark eyes, lips the color of blood, and short blond hair that skims my jaw. Tonight, she's bold and seductive and she's everything they want. Everything they need, even if just for ten minutes.

Even with Rose sitting delicately in place, hiding the real me from the assessing eyes, I'm still dying for something to calm my mind for a moment. Something to help take the edge of the worry that sits bunched up in my muscles and in the pit of my stomach.

"Hey, Sam."

Sam pushes the headphones off his ears, letting them rest on his shoulders. "Hey!" he says, flashing me a sparkly smile. "What's up, beautiful?"

His eyes are dark and shiny, and there are two perfectly-placed dimples in each of his cheeks. I can see why Leah is attracted to him, but if he didn't ask us all for "a loan" every other shift, and if I didn't see him constantly snorting lines off of the nearest flat surface, I'd like him a whole lot more.

"Gimme something I can sweat to, okay?" I yell over the music.

The dimples in his cheeks deepen, and his eyes are so chemical-bright they're dazzling. "Right on! I have the perfect thing!" He turns back to the turntables, and I slip back behind the stage.

I stretch a little, just enough to warm up my shoulders, but I'm really just eager to get onto the stage and get moving. And it turns out Sam does have the perfect song. It begins and it's like the whole world slips away, the whole place empties and it's just me, the stage, and the music. I pour everything I have into the dance, and by the time my three and a half minutes are up I'm panting so hard I can feel my heart beating in my mouth. The insides of my legs smart from the pole, and I think I accidentally ripped the clasp off of my halter top as it came off, but when James finds me out the back with a wad of tips in his hand and a huge smile on his face, it's all totally worth it.

"You killed it!" he says, giving me a high five. "I swear, I thought this one guy was going to blow his load all over the place."

I laugh as he hands me the balled-up material of my top and a fistful of notes. I give him a few back for his cut, slipping an extra couple of bucks in there for retrieving my top. The clasp is an easy fix, especially since I don't have money to burn buying endless outfits.

James pulls the curtain aside a little and pops his head out before closing it again quickly. "Whoops, looks like the boss is in the house; I'd better get back to work." He holds a hand out and I take it, keeping my balance as I wrestle with my heel. "Make sure you give me some warning next time," he jokes. "Can't have you starting any riots up in here."

Smiling, I roll my eyes at his lame attempts at flattery. James is a total cheese ball but takes his work seriously. Heaven help the man who pushes his luck on his watch.

"I'll make sure to let you know."

"I don't pay you two to talk," snaps Marcus as he strides past, the smell of his cologne wafting after him.

James and I scurry off in opposite directions, out of Marcus' sight. I think briefly about turning and following him into his office to speak to him about leaving early, but when I hear something behind his door smash against the wall I think better of it. Instead, I creep past Alice and Tia and check my phone, making sure I haven't missed a phone call or a message.

I haven't.

The phone hits the bottom of my locker with a thump as I toss it back with more force than is really necessary. Now I can't decide if I'm nervous because Edward hasn't called me like he said he would, or if I'm nervous because I feel bad about leaving him alone with Emmett.

I mean, I don't even know how old he is, or where he's from. Or if he really does fix cars. Something about the cuts and bruises on his face doesn't scream nine-to-five mechanic to me.

But he did offer to fix my truck, so what's to say he's not?

Hell, I don't even know if he has a girlfriend or not.

The thought makes my chest squeeze and my stomach ache, and I can't help but think about our little moment in the kitchen earlier. Was it all in my head? I'd been so sure that something had passed between us, but now, with some distance between us, I'm second-guessing it. Was I seeing something that wasn't there? He's never mentioned a girlfriend, but then it's not like Edward is a particularly chatty guy.

Oh, God. What if he does? Here I am having all sorts of… lusty… thoughts about a guy who has a girlfriend.

A girlfriend!

"Hey, handsome," I sing, winking as Mr. Married lets me slide onto his lap.

I try my best to get my head back into work but I can't stop imagining what she looks like. Is she pretty? Of course she is; someone as handsome as Edward wouldn't be wanting for pretty girls. Does she have tattoos like he does? I look down at my skin, where the only marks I can see are the faint white lines on the lower part of my stomach. Not really the kind of marks men look for on a woman.

"What does your daddy think of you doing this?" whispers Mr. Married, all the while staring down at my chest.

I smile, swaying my body to the music. "I don't have a daddy," I whisper back, leaving off the _he's dead _part.

"And what about your mom?" he presses, still looking at my chest. "What does she think of you being here?"

Clenching my teeth, I slide off his lap and pop my leg up beside him, smiling as he slips a note into my garter belt. "I don't know, honey," I say, leaning in a little closer. "How does your _wife_ feel about you being here?"

He blanches, and I push off the seat, leaving him to deal with his self-righteous bullshit. Asshole.

Still, thoughts of Edward's kind of girl swarm my thoughts. Does she make him smile? Does she get to see the smile that crinkles the side of his eyes? The one that makes his whole face light up? The one I'm so desperate to see?

I can't take it anymore.

Seconds later I'm back in the locker room with my phone out, dialing his number before my brain has a chance to catch up. Thankfully, he answers on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Um, hi, it's Bella?" I want to slap myself for the timid sound to my voice.

"Hey."

There's a pause, and the even in silence it suddenly feels like the space between us isn't quite so wide. I can hear the sound of the TV in the background, and something about it feels immediately comforting, and I can practically feel the stress leeching out from my skin and evaporating into the air around me.

"Everything going okay?"

"Yeah. Everything's fine. We're watching TV."

I glace at the clock. It's past nine thirty, way past Emmett's bedtime. He's going to be one grumpy little guy in the morning.

"He's here if you want to speak to him."

"He is?" I glance around before tucking myself into a quiet corner. "Can you put him on?"

There's some rustling, and then the sweetest sound in the whole world.

"Momma?"

His voice makes me smile. "Hey, baby. What are you still doing up?"

"Edward's letting me watch _Cars_."

"Again?"

"He hasn't seened it, Momma!"

"Are you being a good boy? Did you brush your teeth?"

Emmett sighs exasperatedly, which turns into a yawn. "Yes."

"Don't forget to go to the bathroom before you go to bed, okay?"

"Yeah, Momma. Okay gotta go."

"Can you put—"

He hangs the phone up and I stare dumbly at the screen.

Did my four year-old just hang up on me?

Talk about attitude.

I think about calling back since Edward and I kind of got cut off, but I don't really need to, and I probably should get back to work. However, as I replay the conversation in my head I realize that I don't want to be here all night. Any night but tonight - tonight, something inside of me screams to be at home.

The click-clacking of my heels echoes through the hallway outside of Marcus' office. His door is open, and I find Tania inside, draped across his leather sofa like a streak of blonde and red. There are dozens of tiny bags on the table, into which I watch him slide half a dozen or so pills before sealing them up. There has to be at least a thousand of the pills sitting on his desk. While Marcus has never made a secret of his drug dealings, he's also never been so brazen about it.

"What do you want?" he asks impatiently.

"Oh." I swallow thickly. Moments like this are like a bucket of cold water. A scream in my ear that says _what are you doing here?_ "Um - any chance I could leave early tonight?"

"No."

I step forward, trying to look confident, determined, feeling anything but. "I'd really like to get home to Emmett. My babysitter pulled out at the last minute, and I—"

"You left your son at home alone?"

Anger, thick and instantaneous, races through me and I feel my cheeks flush. "What kind of mother do you think I am?" I snap, crossing my arms over my chest to stop from reaching across his desk to throttle him. "He's with a neighbor."

"So let the neighbor look after him," he says, barely paying attention. "You can finish the shift like everyone else."

I glance at Tania, who gives me a sympathetic look in return. She sits up a little, the red dress riding high on her thigh. "You know, the girls will be fine without her tonight. You can let her go."

Marcus looks up. "Who runs this place, you or me?" he snaps, glaring at Tania. "I'm trying to run a fucking business here."

"I know," she says in a placating voice. "I'm just saying that the club is slow tonight, if you wanted to let her leave we would be okay. That's all."

Marcus sighs so loudly it turns into an all-out groan. You'd think I'd just asked him to solve world hunger. He leaves me hanging for a long minute, his eyes glued to the camera feed and the pile of pills in front of him. After what feels like an eternity, he nods his head. "Fine. Finish up at one."

I fight the urge to sigh with relief. "Thank you, Marcus."

I'm reaching for the office door when he calls out to me.

"You owe me," he says, his dark eyes fixed on mine.

A lead weight sinks to the bottom of my stomach. Owing Marcus a favor, being in his debt, is not a safe place to be in.

"Okay."

By the time I'm standing at the kerb at one o'clock, trying my best to hail a cab, I've convinced myself that Edward has kidnapped my son to sell on the black market. Or that there's been a fire in the apartment building. Or an earthquake localized entirely to the west side of the city.

What was I thinking leaving him with a stranger?

_Idiot. _

_You idiot_.

The cab ride home seems to take forever even though it's Sunday night and the roads are almost clear. I practically toss the cash at the driver before sprinting for the stairs, taking them two at a time until I reach our floor.

Standing outside my door, I take a minute to catch my breath. My hands are shaking as I slip the key into the lock. The apartment is dark except for the light from the TV, and Edward is on the couch, his face lit up as he flicks idly through the channels. The sound of the door closing gets his attention and he drops the remote onto the couch as he rises.

"Hey," I say tentatively, dumping my bag just inside the door.

He reaches over and turns on the little lamp beside the couch, a little circle of light pooling at his feet and casting the room in a warm yellow glow. "Hey."

Everything seems to be exactly the way I left it, bar the two clean cups on the side of the sink. It feels like every muscle in my body relaxes, and my shoulders sag with the relief.

"Long night?" Edward asks.

I toe my shoes off. "Weird night."

Nodding, Edward's fingers scrub through his hair, leaving it a shambles. He swallows, his expression bordering on nervous. It's such a strange state to see him in since he always seems so calm and collected.

"Is everything okay?"

"I—Yeah…"

He rubs a hand across the back of his neck before gesturing with his head to follow. I'm momentarily confused, and then startled when he moves toward the door to my bedroom. Edward is walking into my bedroom.

_What on earth?_

Holding my breath, I tentatively follow him to where he stands in the doorway. There's a small yellow light glowing in the corner, which I find strange until I spot Emmett. He's sprawled face down on my bed, his head in one corner, his feet angled toward the other, snoring quietly.

"He wouldn't sleep in his own bed," whispers Edward, looking at me cautiously. "I didn't – I mean, he just got in. I didn't touch anything."

He's nervous about being in my bedroom. He's nervous and for some reason I find it unashamedly attractive.

I smile, imagining calm Edward dealing the ruthless stubborn streak that Emmett has. I can't really complain about it, since he gets it from me, but I know how frustrating it can be at times.

"It's fine," I say. "I don't mind sharing my bed."

My mouth snaps shut.

_I did not just say that. _

"Not that I share it often." My cheeks flame and I'm eternally grateful that it's dark in the hallway. "I mean—he's no trouble—it's fine. It's…" I squeeze my eyes shut tightly. "It's fine."

_Way to go, Bella! _

"How was the movie?" I ask, resting my shoulder against the door frame.

Shrugging, Edward tucks his hands into the front pocket of his jeans. "I'm more of a _Transformers_ guy myself."

I smile. "Well, between _The Avengers_ and dinosaurs and _Cars_ I don't think I can handle another of Emmett's obsessions. Let's keep the _Transformers_ thing to ourselves, okay?"

Edward's mouth lifts just a little, and he looks down, nodding. "Okay."

I tuck my hair behind my ear, trying not to think about what just half of one of his smiles does to me. "Thank you for tonight, Edward."

He leans back against the opposite side of the doorway, his hands still in his pockets. "Emmett's cool. I don't mind."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you had better things to do."

Edward is quiet for a moment, the both of us watching Emmett sleep soundly.

"Do you need someone to look after him again tomorrow night?"

"Are you offering?" I ask, trying not to sound as surprised as I am. When he nods, I can't help but ask the question that's tumbling around inside my head. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

Edward doesn't answer right away. He just looks at me with those green eyes than pin me down, hold me in place with their intensity.

I flatten my hand over my bangs, trying to look anywhere but at him. "I have to know that you're not doing this because you feel sorry for me."

His brow creases. "Why would I feel sorry for you?"

"Come on," I say, rolling my eyes. "Broke single mother and a stripper to boot? I know what people think about me."

"Yeah, well maybe I'm not people."

He's standing so close that I can smell him, and good God if he doesn't smell warm and masculine; the kind of comforting scent you want to bury your face into. When I find myself leaning in just a little closer, I suddenly realize that if I can smell him he can definitely smell me. Unlike Edward, I do not smell great. I smell like cheap perfume and cheaper women. Like hairspray and body bronzer. I take a little step back, inhaling a lungful of non-Edward scented air to clear my head.

"Just… I'm not a charity case, okay?"

Edward crosses his arms over his chest. "And I'm not an asshole."

Something akin to shame washes over me. I sigh. "No, you're not. I know that. I'm just not used to people doing nice things for me for no reason."

Sighing quietly, Edward scrubs his fingers through the hair on his cheek. "I…" He looks up at me. "I don't want anything from you, Bella."

His eyes shine in what little light Emmett's nightlight puts out, a steely gaze directed at me that makes me want to laugh and smile and giggle and crawl under the bed and hide all at the same time.

"Although, like I said, I'll take payment in the form of lasagna if you're offering."

* * *

**Who's wants to make some lasagne for Edward? Any offers?**

**The wonderful Rach, Rach, Kitty and Astro worked their magic. **

**Thank you to everyone for your kind words. **

**xx Wink**


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

The bottom half of Emmett's pants are wet to his knees, and even though he's probably cold to the bone he still jumps right into the huge puddle outside of our apartment building. He giggles as the water splashes up around him, spraying the front door and splattering his jeans with dirty rainwater.

"Emmett!" I yell, shaking the raindrops off of my coat. I hold out a hand, ushering him inside and out of the cold. "I said enough. Let's go."

He trudges past me, ignoring my hand, his socks squelching inside of his boots. When he tries to run past me and up the stairs, I have to hold the back of his jacket to keep him still while I check the mailbox.

It's been like this all week. The rain has been incessant since Monday afternoon, which has meant that the Emmett has been cooped up inside with me instead of being outside. Every morning as we walk to the bus he eyes off the park across the road, no doubt wishing it was dry enough to play on the equipment. Even the preschool has kept the kids inside and out of the weather, so the poor little guy is going insane.

His boots squeak against linoleum floor as I wrestle with the metal door on my mailbox, wriggling the key and trying to pull it open.

"Can I hold the letters, Momma?"

I sigh, flipping through the envelopes. Bank statements; quite possibly the most depressing read ever, junk mail, a utility bill, credit card bills, bills, more bills, and a letter from the landlord.

Turning the letter over, I rip it open and pull out the paper inside.

Em tugs on my free hand. "Can I?"

"Hang on, Emmett."

My eyes scan the formal-looking letter, and as it sinks in it feels like all of the air is crushed out of my lungs. They're putting my rent up.

"Momma!"

The heating doesn't work and the hot water is patchy at best.

"Mommaaaaa."

The elevators haven't worked as long as I've lived here, and the electrics are shot.

"Please? Momma? Please?"

They want me to pay more? You have got to be kidding me.

"I wanna seeeeee," Emmett whines, and the tone of his voice coupled with my already frayed nerves sends me over the edge.

"No!" I snap, scrunching the letter in my hand. "Can you chill out for one second, please?"

His bottom lip drops and he scowls at me. "You're mean," he says. "I hate you."

I know he doesn't mean it, but even so it feels like my stomach falls all the way to my knees, and I can feel the corers of my mouth twitch as tears begin to well in my eyes. "Yeah, well—," I stuff the letters into my handbag, blinking back the need to cry, "—sometimes I hate me too."

"Miss. Bella?"

My jaw clenches so hard I'm sure the muscles at the side of my face are twitching. I turn around to find Neda, with her ever-present red bathrobe clenched tightly around her, standing in her doorway. "Is everything good?"

I nod, managing a tight-lipped smile. "We're fine thanks, Mrs. Eizadi."

Her dark eyes assess the scowling boy at my side, her brows pinching together when he refuses to take my hand. I can feel her judgment burning a hole into the back of my head, and can't even bring myself to turn and face it.

"Upstairs, please," I whisper to Emmett, pressing a hand between his shoulders to urge him to move. He wriggles out of my touch but starts up the stairs anyway. "Goodnight, Mrs. Eizadi. Say hello to Joseph for us both," I call over my shoulder.

I don't hear her door close until we're up the first flight of stairs and out of sight.

The couple in apartment 1E are arguing again. Their yelling is so loud I can hear it all the way down the hallway. Just as Emmett and I begin up the second flight of stairs something smashes against the door and the screaming intensifies.

The constant rain has left the building smelling like mould and wet carpet. The hallway is cold, and I can smell something burned and vaguely spicy emanating from somewhere upstairs. We trudge silently down the hallway to our door, Emmett dragging his feet sullenly, me clutching my keys so tightly I can't be entirely sure that I haven't drawn blood. All I want to do is crawl into bed with the tiny portable heater on, throw the covers over my head, and cry.

Standing in the hallway, right outside my door, I barely suppress the urge to glance toward Edward's apartment. I haven't heard a word from him since Sunday night, when he left me standing in the apartment with just the memory of his smell and an uncontrollable flutter in my stomach. But then this is something I've come to expect from him. He'll appear one day, offering me a ride to work, to fix my car, to look after Emmett, and just as quickly he'll disappear again, sometimes for days at a time.

Everything feels like it's on edge, my nerves and body wound tight like I'm waiting for something. For him.

The apartment is a little warmer inside, and there's only the slight smell of rising damp from the walls. As crappy as it is, is simply smells like home.

"Can you go take your wet clothes off please, baby?"

Emmett ignores me, instead squelching across the already ruined carpet to the lounge room, where he falls to his knees and begins playing with his dinosaur figurines. I pick the saucepan up from its place on the kitchen floor, tipping out the water that's dripped from the ceiling, before sitting it back down. The water falls with a loud _plink-plink_ into the metal pan, the sound echoing around the room.

"Emmett," I say louder. "I asked you to do something."

"Soon," he answers, not bothering to look at me.

I sigh, shrugging out of my jacket. I don't have the patience for his stubbornness. I'm hungry, tired, my feet hurt, things at the diner are getting worse, and now I have to find another hundred dollars a month to stay in the worst apartment building in this whole godforsaken city. What I don't need is a cranky boy.

It takes a whole lot of tears and yelling, and a large amount of bribery, but after an hour I finally get Emmett washed, fed, dressed in something warm, and into bed. His lashes flutter as sleep begins to pull him under. His little hands are tucked under his cheek and his breath begins to even out as I rub a hand slowly up and down his back. As much as he's been a handful tonight, I can't help but embrace the little tug he gives my heart when I look at him.

"Momma?" he slurs, half asleep.

"Mm-hm?"

"I don't really hate you."

I lean in to kiss the freckles that dust the tip of his nose and forehead. "I know, baby."

I pull the sheets up around his shoulders and switch his nightlight on. As I leave, I turn the tiny portable heater on outside of his bedroom, hoping it's enough to keep him warm through the night.

I take the crumpled letter out of my bag and smooth it onto the tabletop. Pulling a notepad from a kitchen drawer, I divide the page into columns. With a stack of bills and letters in front of me I begin writing numbers, scratching out and penciling things in as neatly as possible. New bills go to the left—they can wait a while longer—urgent payment notices and final demands to the right. The longer I spend writing in the numbers, the worse it gets. Within minutes the words are starting to blur.

As the first tear hits the paper I know it's going to take hold. I can feel it crawling its way up my chest and into my throat. Fear. It's strong and it's painful, and, like a beast let loose, it comes screaming forward, engulfing me from the inside out.

My tears are hot and fast; streaming down my cheeks silently, collecting on the tabletop, staining the pale wood.

Being strong is hard. It takes every ounce of strength I have every day not to crumble, not to give in, not to let go.

But I'm tired.

I'm so tired I can feel it all the way to the center of my bones, right down deep inside to the place where all this strength comes from.

I fold my arms in front of me, placing my head down on top of them just to that I can suck in a breath before a fresh round of tears begins.

The bank is so far up my ass I can't eat anything without giving them half. I can't make a decent paycheck without sinking half of it into loan repayments and credit card bills. Whatever little I have left I use to clothe and feed my son, keep a roof over our head, and pay the debt that grows every day. Sometimes, like tonight, it's like the pressure is so great I'm suffocating beneath it all. The weight of responsibility chokes the air out of my lungs and feels like cement in my veins. Everything I have balances so precariously on the line that just the smallest mistake could mean I lose it all.

I wish I could erase everything and begin again. Start again as someone new and do it right.

By the time the last sob has shuddered through my chest, my eyes are so puffy I can barely see, and my nose is stuffy and running. I toss the balled up tissues into the trash and peel my clothes off, dropping them at the foot of the bed before crawling in and tucking the covers up under my chin.

My body continues to shudder, both from the cold and from the crying.

The last thing I feel before I fall asleep is the touch of tiny cold feet against the back of my legs as Emmett buries his head into the pillow beside mine.

* * *

"Momma."

Two small hands are pressed to the side of my face.

"Momma," he whispers, louder this time, and I can feel his breath on my cheek.

"Emmett," I groan.

"Momma, wake up," he whispers again, and this time I open my eyes to find Emmett sitting up in my bed, looking down at me.

I groan, lifting my arms over my head. My eyes are swollen and gritty, and it feels like just moments ago that I fell asleep. I can't remember the last time I cried like that, and the memory of it makes me uncomfortable — almost embarrassed.

"It's wake up time."

"Already?"

"I beened awake for hours!"

I smile, reaching up to tug at his pajama shirt. "Hours? Really? Did you make Momma breakfast?"

Emmett shakes his head, laughing. "No. You make me breakfast. You're the mommy."

Sighing, I reach over to grab my phone from the nightstand. "You're right, Em. I am the mommy."

I sit up so quickly Emmett almost tumbles right off the bed.

I've slept right through my alarm.

* * *

Emmett takes the stairs as quickly as possible, too stubborn to let me help him down even though we're in a hurry. Ignoring his protests, I tuck my hands under his arms and lift him down the final three stairs. I take his hand, squeezing tightly. "We have to run, okay?"

He nods. "'kay."

I turn, ready to bolt, and there he is; backpack slung over one shoulder, sunglasses still in place, his whole body radiating exhaustion.

"Edward!" chirps Emmett.

Edward looks up from his phone, and I try not to notice the way his expression brightens when he sees Emmett and I.

"Hey, kid," he says. His expression softens as he looks up at me. "Hey, Bella."

I have to clench my jaw to stop from grinning like an idiot "Hey."

As much as I'd like to stand and stare at him all morning, if I don't hustle we're going to miss the next bus, and I'm going to be even later than I already am. Which is a shame, because tired or not he's still the most ridiculously attractive guy I've ever seen, and spending a little time with him this morning would have been nice.

He steps aside as we hurry past. "Running late?"

"As always!" I call, waving and tugging Emmett along behind me.

* * *

"You finishing for the day?" asks Pete. He's standing at the fry plate, scraping the remnants of something off the grill.

I untie my apron and ball it up. "Yeah. Done for another week."

"You takin' that stuff I left for you in the fridge?"

Lifting the box of leftovers I smile. "Of course. What would Friday night be without Lila's meatloaf and apple pie?"

He chuckles, his protruding belly brushing against the stove front.

"Hey, Pete?"

"Hm?"

"I was wondering; since Lauren will be cutting down shifts with the baby coming and all, do you think maybe I could pick up a Monday open, or a dinner shift one night a week?"

Pete switches the gas off at the knob, and turns to me. "You quitting at the club?"

I shake my head. "Just need a little extra cash."

He sighs and I can see the 'no' before it leaves his mouth. "You know I would if I could. But I had to let one of our night staff go last week, and I—,"

"It's fine." I manage a smile, waving him off. "Don't worry about it."

He comes in close, smelling like fried food and sweat, and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "If anything at all comes up, you'll be the first person I call, okay?"

His assurance offers a little relief, but I decide not to push it, especially since he barely batted an eyelid at my late arrival in the morning. Even one extra shift a week would be enough to ease the strain on my already overworked bank account. Until then, I guess I'm going to have to dance a little harder for a little longer.

With the afternoon finally free of rain, Emmett is in a better mood when I pick him up from preschool. There's paint between his fingers and under his nails, and he carries his work of art delicately all the way home, refusing to fold or roll it up.

"Should we put it on the refrigerator when we get home?"

"Hannah gives hers to her Daddy."

"Yeah?"

He nods. "Can we send mine?"

"Where would you like to send it?"

The little frown appears as he thinks, and I wait anxiously for his answer. I've been truthful with Emmett about his father since he was old enough to ask about him. Well, as truthful as you can be with a four year-old. He knows his daddy did some bad things, and that meant he had to go to time out for a long time. I can't be sure if he truly understands, but for the moment I'm just grateful that he hasn't asked me anything more about it.

In the end, he just shrugs. "Can we put it in my room?"

I tug his little beanie down over his ears to keep them warm. "Of course."

The bus stops a block from our apartment, and the door hisses open. Emmett climbs down the stairs slowly, ensuring at all times that his poster is kept out of harm's way. I follow, keeping a hand out to steady him. He releases my grip as we enter the apartment parking lot so that he can hold his poster with two hands, and I shift the box of leftovers to the other arm to ease the strain.

It's the clink of metal against metal that captures my attention, and I actually do a double-take, my head swinging from side to side so quickly I almost lose my balance. In the corner of the lot, where it's been sitting for the past four months, is my truck. It's in the same spot it was when I left, still covered in dust and grime, but the hood is up, the rusted out spot in the center on show. I grind to a stop, calling for Emmett to stop also. My heart sinks at the thought of replacing a stolen battery, or headlights, or whatever it is that people steal from cars these days. Although, I do begin to wonder how much I can sell whatever's left for.

"Emmett," I say quietly. He looks over and I gesture him to my side with a flick of my head. My soft, yet totally ugly, shoes are quiet across the asphalt, and I slow my pace just a little as another clink echoes from under the hood. Emmett and I round the driver's side of the cab and lo-and-behold, there's Edward, a socket wrench in hand and a little crease between his brows.

"Uh… hey?"

His head snaps up, and a guilty look flashes across his face. "Hey." He ducks his head under the hood and stands straight, the wrench dangling from his fingers. "I was hoping to finish before you got back."

"Finish what?"

He gestures with blackened fingertips to the various grease-covered parts sitting on the side of the engine bay.

"How did you get the hood open?"

He shrugs, looking down at the truck. "Tricks of the trade."

A grey t-shirt strains across his shoulders as he leans over the engine again, a dirty cloth hanging from his back pocket.

"Are you fixin' it, Edward?" asks Emmett, trying to peer over the side of the engine bay.

Edward tightens the cap on the radiator, and my mouth runs dry at the sight of his bare arms, lean and colorful, finally exposed to me from bicep to wrist. "Trying. Did you do that today?" he asks, gesturing to the picture in Emmett's hands.

Em nods proudly, holding it out. "That's me, and that's Momma, and that's my Grandpa but he died, and then that's a dinosaur."

Edward gives a half smile, nodding politely.

"Hey, you want to sit in the truck, Em?"

His eyes widen. "Can I sit at the front?"

"As long as you don't touch anything."

He squeals, clapping his hands, and I lift him into the cab behind the steering wheel. There's not much damage he can do without the keys and half the engine removed but just in case I hand him my phone so that he can play games anyway.

The door groans as I close it, and I think I see a chunk of paint flake off.

Edward and I are both quiet for a moment, him working, me watching. "You know you really don't have to do this, Edward."

He looks up from the engine. "Didn't we already talk about this?"

I rest my hip against the side panel. "Lasagna. Right."

The socket wrench clicks and twists, Edward's knuckles white as he grips the metal. "You get the letter about the rent?"

"Yeah," I sigh. "What a bunch of a-holes."

He nods. The bruise that only a few days before was just beginning to blossom beneath his eye has now turned a pale shade of yellow, almost invisible unless you're really looking, which I am. The scruff on his jaw is a little longer, too—softer—and my fingers twitch with the want to reach out and touch it.

"How's it looking?" I ask, leaning over the engine a little.

Edward nods. "Looks good. Should be running just fine now."

My eyebrows shoot up. "It's done?"

I step back as Edward releases the hood and closes it with a click. He wipes his hands on the oily rag and tosses it into the box at his feet.

"Now you don't have to be late to work. Again."

I grimace. "So you've noticed i'm always late, huh?"

He smirks, splaying both hands atop the hood of the car and leaning toward me slightly. "It hasn't escaped my notice, no." I like this side of Edward: playful, sweet, thoughtful. He taps his knuckles against the hood twice. "You want to turn it over?"

I fish my car keys out from the bottom of my bag, and slide into the driver's seat, sitting Emmett on my lap. Since it's been sitting idle for so long I'd expected the battery to be flat, but of course Edward's already thought of that, and when I turn the keys in the ignition the engine whines and wheezes, but starts up with a bang. Emmett squeals and claps and I can't help but join in. The both of us laugh as the engine chugs and splutters, the whole chassis rocking beneath us. After I shut the engine off, I slide out of the front seat and almost knock Edward over as I throw my arms around his neck.

"Oh my God, Edward! This is so awesome, thank you so much!"

He chuckles, his scruffy cheek brushing against my ear.

"I can't believe you got it working. I thought it was dead for sure. It's—" I feel his hand touch my lower back gently, and the pressure of his warm hand against my thin dress is enough to snap me back into reality. I unwind my arms from his shoulders, and step back. "It's awesome," I repeat, quieter this time. "Thank you."

The wind picks up, and I tug my jacket around me tightly. The evening is cool, but on the inside I'm suddenly blazing hot.

Edward shuffles awkwardly, his long fingers tugging on his earlobe. "You—uh—you want me to look after Emmett tonight?"

When I look at him he's looking right past me, right through the front window of the truck at the boy sitting in the front seat. When his eyes come back to mine he blushes as our eyes meet, making me smile.

"Sure. I mean, if you think you're up for it. He's been kind of a terror this week."

Edward nods slowly. "I'll take that into account."

I smirk. "It's your funeral."

"Momma! I gotsta pee."

Edward chuckles and I roll my eyes.

"Okay, baby."

Emmett dances from foot to foot as I watch Edward tidy up the broken parts of my truck.

"Want to come up for dinner later? It's not as exciting as lasagna, but there's apple pie." I lift the box, shaking the insides.

A gentle smile reaches the corners of Edward mouth. "You make it hard to say no." He shrugs a sweater on over his t-shirt, and picks up the toolbox. "Six?"

I glance down at my shabby pink and white-striped dress and stockings. "Six thirty."

After rushing Em upstairs to the bathroom, we then head back down to Neda's apartment. I can hear the radio playing somewhere, and the sound of something Middle Eastern and exotic gets louder as Amun, her husband, opens the door. His features are dark, like his wife's, and a thick moustache that's peppered with graying hair covers his top lip, hiding most of the top half of his mouth. His eyes light up when he spots us.

"Mr. Emmett!" he says, clapping his hands together. "And Miss. Bella." He says something in Farsi, smiling broadly at us before he bends down to take Emmett's face in his hands. "You grow up fast. Come, come inside."

He ushers us inside, the hospital-mandated walking stick close at his side. He and Neda proceed to fuss over Emmett, and as always, remind me that they have a son who's single, and a Doctor, who drives a Mercedes and runs six miles every morning. Even if I was interested, which I'm not, I can't imagine dating someone who earns as much as he does but still allows his parents to live in this place.

"I just wanted to let you know that I won't need you to look after Em tonight."

"Oh?" Neda says, sounding hopeful.

She and Amun have always pretended not to know what I do for money. I'm pretty sure she left that part out when she told her son about me. Nevertheless, I know they know, and I know they don't approve. But, the good people they are, they still look after Emmett, keeping watch over him when I can't be there.

"Edward is going to come over and watch dinosaurs," interrupts Emmett. "And he said he likes Batman, and I like Batman!"

"Is Edward your friend, azizam*?" asks Neda, feeding him a little piece of something sticky and pink.

Emmett stuffs the whole sweet into his mouth, but after one chew decides he doesn't like it. His nose wrinkles. "He's Momma's friend."

Neda's eyebrows almost fall off the top of her head.

"He's a neighbor," I amend, holding out a hand for Emmett to spit out the rose-flavored jelly into. "Edward from 3C."

"Emmett, eshghe man*," says Neda, lifting him from the stool. "Go find Amun. He show you something fun." She pats him on the bottom and he scampers off.

She wiggles a wrinkled, bony finger at me. "I no like," she says as soon as Emmett is out of hearing range. "He has many tattoo, and he has face like trouble."

Tell me about it.

"He's actually very nice, Neda. You shouldn't judge."

Her lips purse and she makes a clucking noise at the back of her throat. "I no like. He make trouble for you and little one. You leave him here with us."

"You know I'm grateful for your help, Neda. But I want to be able to leave him at home where he's comfortable." Neda huffs, shaking her head. "Besides," I say, "Emmett could use a friend."

She snaps the lid on a container of sweets and various sugar-soaked desserts, still looking unconvinced.

I smile at her, popping a piece of the soft Turkish delight into my mouth. The sugar on the outside dissolves and the flavor of rose petals and warm summery nights blossoms across my tongue. "You'll see. Everything will be fine."

* * *

_Eshghe man_ – my love

_Azizam_ – my darling/sweetheart

* * *

**Big Easter thank you's to Kitty, Astro and my two amazing Raches. Thank you to everyone reading and for anyone recc'ing. Just thank you xx**

**Don't forget: the prompts for TwiKink are still up for adoption, so if you're thinking about writing now is the time to do it. It can be as small as 1k or as big as 10k - just write! (You never know who else might be writing...) Check the TwiKink twitter or blog for submissions and prompts x**


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

I forgot just how great it is to have a working mode of transportation. The trip to and from work is shorter, I don't have to catch a cab to and from the club, and, as Edward had said, I'm not late anymore. The thought that I could just jump in my truck and take off, drive far away until the roads stretch into the horizon and the city disappears in my rearview, is liberating. Liberating, and very, very tempting.

However small Edward thinks the gesture was, however easy he keeps telling me it was, the impact it's had is life-altering. The impact _he's_ had on my life is… indescribable.

Sure, he still disappears for days on end, and sometimes he'll turn up on a Friday night with a swollen lip or a limp, but for the most part he's become a regular fixture at home. He swears he's happy to look after Emmett on Friday and Saturday nights and refuses point blank to take payment. It takes me a few weeks to become truly comfortable leaving Emmett alone, but every night I return to see him tucked up safe in bed I relax a little further. What's more, Emmett is totally taken with him, almost smitten, and it's this that makes me happier more than anything.

Well, that and I like him, too.

I _really_ like him.

It sneaks up on me, that giddy feeling that you get when you have a crush. The moments spent anticipating his arrival, counting the minutes until I see him, thinking about every little detail of our brief encounters, it feels silly and amazing all at once.

It takes me a while to admit to myself that it's not just a passing attraction, and when I do it's like the blushing and heart fluttering increase tenfold. In fact it's embarrassing the way my body reacts when he's around.

"Surely you have something better to do on a Saturday night," I joke, throwing a sweater on. "Hanging around a four-year-old isn't exactly your idea of an exciting Friday night, right?"

Edward looks up from the coloring book on the table in front of him, his green eyes watching from across the room. "You'd be surprised."

He and Emmett are sitting close, Edward with his long legs tucked up under the kitchen table and Emmett with his swinging back and forth. There are crayons spread out across the table, and Emmett has his tongue captured between his lips as he colors.

"Well, you know you can let me know if you can't sit him, okay?" I say, slipping my shoes on. "You know… if you have a date, or… something."

The word _date_ sticks in my throat like dry toast, and comes out quieter than I'd wanted it to. For some reason the sound of it rattles around in my head afterwards, bouncing against the inside of my skull like an echo. I force a smile as I look over at him. Edward just looks across at Emmett who's in the coloring zone and completely oblivious.

"Yeah. I'll let you know."

I don't know why I even said anything. Just thinking about Edward on a date gives my stomach a sinking feeling, and I have to take a deep breath to cleanse away the ache that settles its weight inside my chest.

Some days I'm sure he feels the same way I do. I'll see a little flicker of something flash in his eyes, or he'll say something that makes me think that maybe I'm not alone in this, that maybe he might like me, too. But then nothing happens, we continue this little dance, and in the end I'm left feeling wound up and uncertain.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I sling my backpack over my shoulder and grab the car keys from the table beside Edward. "I'll see you boys later."

He looks up just as I turn back, and the way his eyes linger as they meet mine makes the rest of the world fall away and that little spark of hope ignite.

My mind spins and my heart flutters.

My God.

If that's what happens when he looks at me, I can't imagine what it would be like to actually kiss him.

* * *

Blush is an absolute mad house when I arrive. Alice and one of the other girls are giggling loudly, passing a rolled up note back and forth as they devour the lines of powder in front of them. The music is loud, the bass rattling the walls, and I can hear a full house chattering and mingling loudly from behind the curtains. But it's the yelling coming from behind Marcus' office door that rises above it all.

"Who's that in there with him?" I ask quietly, passing the girls.

"Oh hey!" says Alice with a giggle, her eyes glassy and unfocused. "That's Leah."

"Really?" Goosebumps flash across my skin. I've heard Leah and Marcus argue before, but this sounds worse than anything I've heard. "What's Marcus done this time?"

Alice giggles again, taking a mouthful of something that looks like whiskey or bourbon. The night has barely begun and she already looks hammered. "Nothing. Someone told him that Leah's been cutting him short on her tips." She says the word _someone_ like she knows exactly who it was, and I'd bet my night's paycheck that it was her.

Both girls collapse into a fit of giggles, and my head swings towards the door as a fresh round of yelling begins. "Why would she do that?"

Tania swoops into the dressing room, her black dress making her skin look pearly white. The material is tight, the open sides held together by thin strips that show the curve of her hips and upper thigh. "Leah is a law unto herself, Bella. Who knows why she does the things she does."

"Is she going to get fired?" I ask, immediately kicking myself for being nosey.

Tania hands Alice and the other girl a little stack of powder-filled bags each. Sighing, she turns to me, her expression confidence, but her eyes betraying the fear that lies beneath.

"Who knows what Marcus will do."

The girls stop their laughing just long enough for an air of tension to fill the tiny room. I can't help but stare at the office door, the voices from behind now ominously quiet.

Smoothing her hands over her dress, Tania plasters on a fake smile. "Leah can handle herself, Bella." She straightens and turns to a glassy-eyed Alice. "Let's not hear any more about this, okay?" Reaching out, she takes the glass of whiskey from Alice, swallowing the rest in one gulp. "Let's get back to work, shall we?"

Alice and the other girl scamper off as fast their wobbly legs will take them. I head into the back room to change, the whole time trying to ignore the cold fingers of fear creeping up my back.

Saturday night means Tyler in private room three. It means stag nights and the occasional bridal shower for the more risqué bride. It means taking my clothes off and then putting them back on at least two dozen times. It means sore feet and calves, sweaty boobs and aching shoulders.

I'm on my way to the bar when I spot Leah. She's sitting with a client, her dark skin glowing under the houselights. I can't help myself. I have to talk to her.

Smiling at the guy in front of her, I place a gentle hand on Leah's arm. "So sorry to interrupt."

The customer's eyes widen as Leah slips a hand around my waist. "I'll be one moment, sweetheart," she says to him, leaving with a touch on his thigh.

"Are you okay?" I ask quickly as soon as we're out of earshot.

Leah's brows crease with confusion. "Why wouldn't I be?"

I shrug, wrapping my hair around my fist. "I heard you arguing with Marcus earlier. Sounded pretty serious."

"That?" says Leah says with a snort. "That was nothing. Some cunt told Marcus I was short-changing him. I told him to go fuck himself."

"Leah!" I whisper, aghast. "You need to be careful what you say to Marcus."

Wrapping an arm over my shoulder, she tugs me into her side, laughing. "Chill out, B. He talks a big game, but I'm not scared of that guy. Or his skanky little side piece."

Her green eyes twinkle at me in the dark, and I sigh, shaking my head at her. "You're crazy. I love you, but you're crazy."

* * *

Just after two in the morning, Tania pulls me aside as I'm about to have a break.

"I've got a private client for you in the VIP suite."

The heels on my feet are pinching something fierce, and I need a drink of water yesterday. "Is there anyone else around? I was just about to—"

"No. I'd like you to see him."

She leads me across the floor to the VIP section, an insistent hand on my lower back. "Who is he?"

Tania grins, glossy red lips stretching over porcelain veneered teeth. She adjusts my hair piece and the strap on my top. "Just make sure you look after him, okay?"

I tug my hair out of her hands, brushing it over my shoulder and out of her reach. This mothering facade she has going just isn't her style. In fact it's a little creepy. "Don't I always?"

She crosses her arms, her bright pink acrylic nails resting against her skinny biceps. "Well. Be extra attentive. He's an important guy."

Wearing my best fake smile, I glide through the VIP area and into the small private rooms.

Blush is known for being the best, and while our private areas leave nothing to be desired, our VIP rooms are pure luxury. Leather seating, plush carpeting that makes the pain in my feet almost disappear, immaculately styled interiors, and, of course, complete discretion.

Can't have Mr. Wannabe-President caught with his face between a pair of tits when he's got a wife and kids at home.

He's sitting in the second room when I arrive. I can tell his suit is expensive, his are shoes worth more than my week's paycheck, and the whiskey in his glass is top shelf. His hair is dark, almost black beneath the product that keeps it slicked back. I've seen his face before, but I barely have time to sleep let alone time to read the papers. I smile sweetly, and he smiles in return. His skin is dark and exotic looking, his features attractive, but it's his eyes that make the hair on my arms stand up. There's something dangerous lingering in them—almost predatory—as he looks me up and down.

"Hey, handsome."

My voice doesn't waver, but I can feel my heart flutter with anxiety.

He slides his jacket from his shoulders and puts his drink on the side table. "Hello, Rose."

My hair is long tonight. Dark chocolate waves that reach all the way down to my lower back. Against the gauzy white camisole and teeny tiny skirt, Rose is practically an angel.

I take a seat beside him, giving him a moment to let his eyes wander. Crossing one long leg over the other, I lean in close, resting a hand on his thigh. His arm rests along the back of the seat, his hand pressed against my lower back. It's considered a safe-zone, but his proximity still makes me uncomfortable.

We make small talk for a moment, and I press in closer, doing my best to seem interested.

"How old are you?" he asks, looking down at my chest pointedly. He runs a hand down my arm, and it feels like my flesh dies beneath his touch.

The answer to this question changes from client to client. Something about this guy makes me say, "Nineteen."

A slow smile spreads across his face, and his hand drifts up my back until its resting on the back of my neck. I just hope he can't feel me shudder beneath his touch.

"You wanna dance for me, baby?"

I nod, smiling shyly. His hand lifts from my neck, and immediately I stand up and out of his reach. I take the iPod from the dock and begin to scroll through the songs. "Any requests?"

He shakes his head so I pick something slow, and he sits back, his hands at his sides. My heart continues to beat its irregular rhythm, and I do my best to keep it calm as I dance for him. When he slides a hand up my thigh though, his fingers reaching for the side of my thong, it jumps up into my throat.

Smiling at him over my shoulder, I waggle my finger at him, placing his hand back in his lap. "That's my job."

He grins, lifting one side of his mouth, and I immediately think how ugly it looks on him. "Tease," he says quietly.

Tania's words ring in my ears. _"Be extra attentive." _

I continue to smile as my hips move slowly, rotating, rocking, rolling on his lap to the beat. I ignore it when he puts his hands back on my thighs. However, when he starts to lean in and those wandering hands squeeze the flesh on my upper thigh, his fingers sliding toward my butt, I begin to wonder why I'm really here.

"He said you had a pretty mouth," he practically groans, staring at my mouth.

I flutter my false lashes seductively as I slip the strap of my camisole down my arm, trying to distract him. "Oh yeah? Who told you that?"

He looks down, watching as the other strap follows and the material slides down over my breasts. When he looks back up, his eyes are watching my mouth again.

"I bet it gets you in all sorts of trouble." His hand rests on the side of my head and his thumb presses so hard against my bottom lip that I feel my lipstick smear across my skin.

I reel back, pushing his hand away.

"Come on, sweetheart," he whispers, leaning forward again as his arm wraps around my hips, securing me to his lap. This time I can't hide the shocked expression I feel as he presses me to the erection straining against his suit pants. "Don't play games."

"Games?" I echo, resting my hands on his forearms as he reaches for me again.

This time he laughs, shaking his head at me. "You think I'm paying just to get your tits out? Huh?" His grip tightens on my hip as he tries to pull me forward again. "You think you're just _that_ special?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

He laughs and leans back to unzip the fly on his suit pants.

"What are—"

At the same time that he reaches into his pants to pull himself out, he slides a hand into my hair and grips the side of my head roughly. "Now. How about you put that pretty mouth of yours to good use."

Not caring if he rips out half of my hair, I push his hand away and without even thinking slap him hard across the face. "Get your hands off me!"

He sits there, looking stunned and holding his face in his hand. I grab my top and walk out, giving the entire floor a free peep show as I storm across the club, trying to wrestle it back on. My heart is beating so hard it feels like I might actually throw up. Adrenaline spikes through my veins, and by the time I reach Marcus and Tania my hands are shaking. I push open the door and it slams against the wall behind me.

"Did you tell that asshole I would suck his dick?" I yell, looking between Tania and Marcus. The two of them are silent. I must look crazy, with my hair a mess and a smear of red lipstick across my chin. "How much was I worth, Marcus, huh? A hundred? One fifty? What's the going rate for a blow job at Blush these days?"

Marcus remains completely quiet for a moment, watching me from across the office.

"Three hundred."

My mouth drops open. _Three hundred dollars._

"Sit down, Bella," he orders.

"I think I'll stand."

Marcus lifts his head a little and his eyes bore into mine. "Sit. The fuck. Down."

Tania places a hand gently on my shoulder and guides me into the chair across from him. He presses his fingers to his temples for a moment, taking a deep breath before he looks up again.

"How long have you been here? Six months? Seven?"

"Almost eight," I snap. I'm still seething, but the longer I sit here, waiting for Marcus to say his piece, the more my anger begins to settle into something darker.

Marcus clasps his hands across his stomach, leaning back into his leather seat. "What are your career goals? Where do you see yourself in two years time?"

_Career goals? Not working here, that's for damn sure. _

"I haven't thought that far ahead."

"You don't see yourself earning more money? Maybe making enough to quit the diner?"

I look at Tania, feeling confused and like I'm about to be ambushed by the two of them. "I guess…"

Marcus nods. "What if I told you that you could earn double, even triple your wage right now? What would you say?"

I pull my fingers through the ends of my hair, suddenly nervous. "I'd ask what the catch is."

Marcus gives me one of his rare, charming smiles. "Smart girl."

"Do you have any idea how many requests we get for you, Bella?" asks Tania, leaning forward a little from her seat beside me.

I shrug slowly.

"You're popular," she replies. "Probably the most popular girl here. But you already knew that."

Tania looks to Marcus, who leans forward in his chair, clasping his hands together and resting them on his desk. "Blush prides itself on being able to fulfill very specific fantasies, Bella. We have the most attractive, talented girls around, the most opulent surroundings, and the ability to give men exactly what they want. However, there are some men, some very wealthy, very well-connected men, who have certain… proclivities, shall we say, that extend beyond a lap dance."

It's like everything slows. "What kind of _proclivities_?" I ask through a tight jaw.

Marcus smiles again. "The kind that they're willing to pay good money for."

My mind races to pin down a coherent thought. My mouth just opens and shuts as I stare at the two of them in shock.

"You've got that innocent kitten look they all want, Bella. You look young, and no one would know you've popped a baby out of that body of yours. You're the sweet little thing they all want a piece of, and I think you could make some serious money out of these guys."

Suddenly the whole thing with the guy in the VIP area makes sense — the memory of Tania on her knees comes to mind, and then it all clicks. Of course Marcus knows she's screwing guys for money; he's taking a cut.

"Are you kidding me?"

"It'd be safe. Regulated. The men would be screened by Tania and me."

I snort. "You mean you'd screen their wallets, right? The highest bidder gets to fuck me?"

"No need to get angry," says Tania quietly, looking at Marcus warily. "It's just an idea we had. You're not under any duress to go ahead with it."

"Fucking right I'm not."

"Aren't you sick of earning thirty dollars for a dance?" argues Marcus. "Do you have any idea the money you could be pulling in here?"

"Sleeping with men for money?" I spit. "Being a prostitute?"

"You don't want nice things for your boy?" says Tania quietly, and my mouth pops open, my eyes narrowing in her direction. My blood practically boils. "A bike for his birthday?" she continues, ignoring my hateful glare. "Good schools? Nice clothes?"

"A nicer apartment?" says Marcus. "Something better than that shithole you live in now."

I look at Marcus, my throat tight with nerves and anger. My voice cracks, the sound of it betraying the swirl of emotions eddying through me. "How do you know where I live?"

His eyes narrow. "Don't ask stupid questions. I know everything there is to know about you, Bella Swan."

The urge to run is strong. With shaking legs, I stand. "I can't do this tonight. I'm sorry. The answer is no."

Tania places a hand on my arm. "Think about for a while."

I pull my arm out of her grasp and step back, putting some space between us so I don't grab her by the throat like I want to. "Don't touch me. Ever."

Looking up, I focus all my energy into not yelling. "And if you ever mention my son again I swear, I'll rip your fucking throat out."

The door slams so hard I feel the vibration against my back.

I want to storm out. Jump in my car and drive off never to look back. But I have a past due rent bill sitting at home, a stack of overdue bills just beneath and a paycheck in the office I just walked out of.

All I can do is live with my anger. Work through it.

By the time I finish up at five thirty, I've been stewing for so long that it's worn me out. I just want to get the hell out of this place. I want to get into my car and drive far, far away, leaving all of this bullshit behind.

Stuffing my things into my bag, I shake my head, slamming my locker shut. I can't believe I'm back here again, wishing myself somewhere else.

The girls and I all wait outside of the office for Marcus to give us our pay. Alice is so high she can barely keep her eyes open, and a few of the girls already have bottles of beer in their hands, ready to celebrate the end of another night.

"Has anyone seen Leah?" I ask, looking around for her.

"Marcus said she left early," says Kate, shrugging. "I guess he sent her home."

I shoot her a quick text, just to check in, and then slide the phone back into my bag. The door swings open a second later, and Tania follows behind Marcus, standing to the side while he hands out the envelopes.

"Nice work tonight, ladies."

He drones on about bar sales and reminds us all that anyone caught cutting the house short on their tips will be fired. But it all fades into the background as I count the cash in my envelope. There's an extra one hundred fifty dollars in my paycheck.

"Marcus?"

He just rolls his eyes. Tania intercepts, shaking her head and placing a hand over mine as I try to shove the bills at her. "Just take it," she says quietly. "Think of it as an incentive."

I stare at her beautiful features: the slim nose and almond-shaped eyes, the long lashes and pouty lips, all covered with heavy makeup to disguise the sallow skin and dark circles that mar her otherwise lovely face. How can someone so smart be so stupid?

"I don't need incentive. I need extra hours, not a pimp."

Her expression stays neutral. "Take it. Go home and look at your baby boy and think about it some more, then come back to me next week, okay?"

The proud side of me desperately wants to shove the money back in her face. It feels dirty. Like part of my soul was paid for with this money. But the logical side of my brain knows how much we need it.

"My answer is still no," I spit, shoving the money into my purse and walking out the back door.

* * *

I'm almost glad to find Edward asleep when I get home. There's an old black and white movie playing on the TV, and he looks dead to the world, his head resting back on the cushions, his long legs splayed out in front of him. The apartment is cold except for the hallway and Emmett's room, where the heater is. I pull a blanket from the cupboard, one of the only remaining possessions I have from Forks that doesn't have bad memories attached to it somehow. The light blue wool is soft and warm, and there are a few tiny moth holes in it, but it's clean. I drape it over Edward and go in search of the remote, finding it tucked down beside a cushion, and shut the TV off.

I think about how easy it would be to sit down and curl myself into his side. How soft his worn-in T-shirt would be against my cheek, and how the steady rhythm of his heart would be such a lovely thing to hear as I fall asleep. But, when he stirs in his sleep I almost jump a mile and end up running into my bedroom, afraid he'll wake and find me standing over him like a creep.

I've barely been in bed two minutes before I fall asleep. Dreams of dark hair and eyes, of wandering hands and the taste of his fingers in my mouth plague me all night, and when I wake a few hours later it feels like I've barely slept at all.

Emmett is rustling about in his room when I get up in search of a coffee. Edward is gone — as I'd expected him to be — but there's a note on the kitchen table.

His writing is blocky and boyish, all capital letters._ "Taking you out today. Back to pick you both up at eleven."_

Emmett pads into the living room yawning, his blond hair falling in his eyes and curling over his ears. The boy really needs a haircut. I think about the things I need to do around the house: the washing, the cleaning, the myriad of other mundane tasks. But the idea of being cooped up inside all day with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company sounds so very unappealing.

With my coffee in hand, I slip back into the bedroom and take my phone from the charger.

_"__See you at eleven. xB"_

* * *

_Thank you. To everyone. Readers. Reviewers. Pimpers. Kitty. The Rachels. Astro. Rochelle. Erica. Packy. Everyone who is sweet enough to leave me kind words on Twitter and FB. Thank you. _

_xx _


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

A cold wind whips through the windows of Edward's Mustang, sending my hair fluttering around my face. Outside it's sunny and the sky is bright blue and crystal clear, the light just bright enough to warm my face. Emmett and I are rugged up in our thickest winter coats, and even though it's a little chilly out, the cold air feels great against my skin. Edward's hand rests comfortably on the gear shift beside me, his long fingers flexing and relaxing as he moves through the gears. I'm not sure what it is about his arms, or his forearms and hands in particular, but the thought of reaching over and touching the fine, auburn-colored hair there sends a shot of warmth through my body and an unexpected wave of desire deep into my stomach.

I can't believe that just the idea of reaching across to hold his hand is enough to set my heart racing. I basically touch people for a living, but I can't remember the last time I welcomed the touch of skin against mine, the last time I craved the feeling of another person.

Oblivious, Edward sits in the driver's seat while I stare out the passenger side window wondering what the touch of his fingers against my skin would feel like.

What his skin might smell like.

What his lips would taste like.

"Sorry for falling asleep last night," he says, glancing at my hands as they lie clenched in my lap.

My cheeks warm when he looks at me and I feel like I've been caught, like my feelings are written all over my face. "Are you kidding?" I manage to say, trying to blink away the inappropriate images from behind my eyes. "Don't be sorry. That sofa is so uncomfortable I feel like I should be apologizing to you."

Edward lifts his shoulder in that lazy shrug he's so good at. "It's not that bad."

"You did look comfortable," I admit, remembering his long, lean form stretched out on my sofa.

His lips turn up into the faintest of smiles, and he laughs. "I've definitely slept in worse places."

"Still," I add, "I feel bad that you have to sleep on my crappy couch when you could be in bed." I glance at Emmett in the back, sitting quietly, watching the world whizz by. "Seriously. You should let me know when you need a night off. The Eizadi's are more than happy to take him."

Beside me, Edward nods, his fingers tapping to the beat of the music playing on the radio. "You did already mention that."

"I know," I say, leaning forward to warm my fingers in front of the heater vents, "but I'm running out of things to cook for you, and it doesn't feel right you looking after Emmett every single weekend."

Edward looks over at me as the car rolls to a stop at a stop sign, his green eyes hidden behind dark glasses. "If I said I'll think about it, would that make you happy?"

I smile. "Yes."

With a satisfied nod, he turns back to the road and the car rolls forward. "Good."

I've come to accept that Edward is not a man of many words. He talks when he wants to, and thinks carefully about what he says, like every word might cost him something. But, as few and far between as his words are, I find myself hanging on each and every one, wanting for more.

I don't ask him where we're going or what we're doing. The smell of the clean fresh air mixed with the pleasure of being in his company is enough.

With no place to be and no plans to keep, we spend the morning driving around the city. Edward takes us through the industrial areas, where he puts his foot to the floor making Emmett giggle as the engine roars and the wind whips in the windows. We coast down to the docks, where the huge container ships sit waiting to be loaded, and even out to the beach, where Emmett, Edward, and I take a walk along the deserted pier.

"The kid needs a haircut," he says, gesturing to Em, who's chasing the seagulls just ahead of us. The drive has left his hair windblown and a complete mess. It curls over his ears and at the nape of his neck, and he keeps having to brush it from his eyes, only to have it fall right back again.

"I usually do it myself, but I've been so busy." Emmett laughs as a group of gulls flap and caw, taking flight around him. The wind picks up, and I huddle down into my jacket and pull my hood up over my head. "He hates hairdressers. He gets so freaked out, starts screaming like he's being tortured…"

"Well… I might know a guy," muses Edward, rubbing a hand across his beard.

"Yeah, I don't know…"

He's so close that I feel his arm shift against mine as he digs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "You trust me, right?"

Turning, I peer at him from beneath my hood, brushing away the hair that whips against my face. His expression is unreadable, his eyes that are normally so expressive still hidden behind tinted sunglasses.

"I trust you."

He smiles, the sides of his mouth twitching, and I can tell he's suppressing a real smile, the kind that if pushed just that little bit further would bloom into something explosive.

"Then I know a guy."

* * *

If it's at all possible, the barber has more ink than Edward does. There isn't a strip of clean skin between his knuckles and his jaw line; it's all a huge mish-mash of color and shading that covers every inch of visible skin. He grins and looks at Edward and me, then down to Emmett and back up.

He looks equal parts confused and surprised, and one hundred percent not at all sure how Emmett and I fit into this picture.

"This where you're bringin' your dates these days?" he jokes, reaching out to shake Edward's hand. I have to hide a smile as Edward shoots the guy a _cut it out_ glare. When I look back up there's a slight pink tinge to Edward's cheeks, and he shakes his head, looking a little uncomfortable.

"Kid needs a haircut," he says, gesturing to Emmett, who's staring up at the ink-covered guy with wide eyes.

The barber looks down at Emmett and nods. "That he does."

The barber reaches his hand out for mine. His grip is firm and his eyes are shiny, and I don't miss the way they pass over me as he shakes my hand. "You came to the right place. I'm Seth."

"Bella."

Seth bends down, bringing himself eye level with Emmett. "What's your name, little dude?"

I feel Emmett's hand grip my leg as he steps behind me, using my hip to shield his face.

"This is Emmett," I answer, resting a hand on his blond head.

"Emmett likes _The Avengers_," says Edward, and Seth's eyes light up.

"Oh yeah?"

Maybe it's the Superman-themed cutting cape, or the Captain America tattoo on his arm, but not only does Seth manage to get Emmett into the chair without a single tear shed, but as he cuts and clips he manages to get him to sit still when needed, and even laugh.

"He's good," I say, slightly amazed as I watch Seth work, occasionally stopping to talk superheroes with my son.

"He's the only person I let touch my hair," says Edward.

I look up at his hair. It's not often that I see it since usually it's hidden beneath a cap or his hood. It's artfully messy, I guess—short on the sides and longer on top, long enough to fall over his forehead a little.

"You don't strike me as the kind of guy who's all about his hair."

He glances at me sideways and runs his hands almost self-consciously over his head. The gesture makes me smile. "I'm not _all_ about my hair."

I laugh, and he reaches over to pull the wool beanie on my head down over my eyes.

"I didn't say I didn't like it," I say, giggling as I brush the hair from my face and right my hat. "You just don't look like the kind of guy who spends an hour styling his hair in the morning."

"One thing I learned about Edward early on," says Seth, who I hadn't even seen appear beside us. "Don't talk smack about his car, his ink, or his hair. He gets a little touchy."

Edward makes a face, and I catch him flipping Seth the bird out of Emmett's line of sight.

Seth's laugh booms around the barber shop as he crosses his arms over his chest. "See?" he says to me, jerking his head toward Edward. "Touchy."

I give him a conspiratorial smile. "I'll make sure I remember that. How much do I owe you?"

He makes a snorting noise, waving a hand in the air. "It's on the house."

"No, Seth. Are you sure?"

"Of course," he says. "Just promise me you won't go near the little dude with scissors ever again, okay?"

I laugh, but promise all the same. In the end I insist that we buy some hair product for Emmett so he can style it up the way Seth has. He tries to argue his way out of taking my money, but when I open the cash register and shove the money in myself, he just laughs.

"Got yourself a live one," he says to Edward, who just shrugs, smiling.

Emmett checks his reflection in every single reflective surface we pass on the way back to the car, the little bag with our purchases swinging from his fingertips.

"You guys hungry?" asks Edward, holding open the door for me so I can strap Emmett into his booster seat.

I straighten up, and Edward closes the door. "You don't have somewhere to be on a Sunday afternoon?"

He frowns, a little crease appearing between his brows. "Like where?"

I shrug. "Like a family lunch, or church, or…I don't know."

"It's just pizza, Bella," he says, opening my door for me. "If I had somewhere else to be, I'd be there."

* * *

"Can I ask you a question?" I ask, picking at the leftover pizza crust on my plate.

Edward chews slowly, and I can see the hesitation in his eyes. But today I don't care. If I'm going headlong into this then so be it.

He wipes his fingers on a napkin and nods.

"How old are you?"

"That's what you wanted to know?" he asks with a laugh. "I'm twenty-eight."

"Did you grow up here?"

"Near here."

There are a thousand questions swirling around my head, each one leading to another, but he beats me to the punch.

"When's your birthday?"

"September. I'll be twenty-four."

"And Emmett?"

"He'll be five in two weeks."

"Any plans?"

"Nothing extravagant," I reply. "He wants a dinosaur cake, and I think I should have enough to buy him a bike."

"No family coming to visit?" he asks, swirling his straw through his soda.

My leg brushes Edward's thigh as I lift it up, tucking it beneath me. "No. Like I said—it's just us."

He wants to say something. I know he does. But just as I know he wants to say something, I know he won't.

"Just ask me," I say, nudging his thigh with my knee.

He hesitates a little longer, but then it's like all the tensions leaves his muscles and he sighs, leaning forward a little, close enough that I can feel the heat of his arm near mine. "What happened to Emmett's father?"

"He's in jail."

"What for?"

I snort. "Drugs, theft, assault with a deadly weapon—to name a few."

Edward's eyebrows rise. "Does Emmett remember him?"

"I can't really tell. He knows he has a dad, but I don't think he could pick him out in a lineup."

"You don't worry about him looking for him when he gets out?"

Balling up my napkin, I shake my head. "He'd have to find us first. Anyway, he gave up parental rights when Emmett was eighteen months old."

I'm amazed at how easy it is to think about it. With Edward sitting beside me, there's a distinct sense of disconnection, like it all happened to someone else.

"So no..." Edward's eyes narrow. "What's his name?"

"Eric."

"No Eric. No brothers or sisters?"

I shake my head.

"And no family close."

I turn to watch Emmett through the restaurant window, my eyes following him as he careens down the slide for the tenth time. "My dad died a few years back." I turn back to Edward. The look of pity that I expect to see there isn't. But all the same I feel the weight of his eyes on me. "Cancer."

"And your mom?"

I shrug, smiling an indifferent smile. "I haven't seen her since I was twelve."

Sighing, Edward rests back into the seat, the cheap plastic covering squeaking beneath him.

It's not often that I feel homesick, that the longing for somewhere greener and brighter overtakes me. Staring out over the grey-skied city, I find that maybe I wouldn't mind a little open space. A little patch of familiar forest-green. But as I turn to look at Edward, and his green eyes find mine again, the feeling abates. The warmth of the restaurant, and of the company I'm in, fills me with a feeling of contentment I've not felt since I left Forks.

Edward doesn't push any further and I don't offer anything more either. To be honest, my past is one thing I'm more than happy to leave well alone, and I actually like Edward, so giving him the gory details of how I ended up here isn't something I'm willing to share just yet.

Emmett is standing at the top of the slide, waving. I wave back and he launches himself down, his arms in the air. As he gets to his feet again, I can't help but notice the way his pants are a little too short, or the way his shoes look old and grey compared to the playground full of shiny new sneakers.

Looking at that, I can't say there isn't a very small, minute part of me that isn't a little interested in the kind of money Marcus is promising. The things I could do for Emmett, and for myself, with that kind of cash would be life changing. But when I think of what I'd have to do, of what I'd have to give up, to make that money, my stomach turns and my skin crawls. Taking my clothes off for money is one thing, but giving away the only remaining part of myself that I can give to someone is beyond the realm of what I'll do.

I'm desperate, but I'm not that desperate.

"You okay?"

I don't even have to look to know that Edward's eyes are on me. I can feel them. I can feel his gaze warm my skin from his seat just a foot away.

I meet his eyes and nod. "Just work stuff."

"You wanna talk about it?"

My instinctive reaction is to say no. But when I look up there's a look of sincerity in his eyes that melts away that need to hide everything. So I tell him about Marcus' offer, about the man in the VIP room, about catching Tania giving some guy a blow job, and about the increasing fear I have that Marcus has a hold on me that goes deeper than just a work contract. It feels good to get it out, like talking about it releases the ball of tension that's been building for the last few weeks. I hadn't realized how much I'd been holding in until the weight of it disappears.

When I finish, Edward sits back in his seat, his gaze fixed on a spot above my head. He takes a deep breath, his T-shirt stretching across his chest as it expands.

"Did he"—he swallows so hard I see his Adam's apple bob—"did he touch you?"

"No. But he tried."

I can see his hands beneath the table as he rubs them up and down his thighs, his fingertips white as he grips his legs tightly. If I'd known he would have reacted this way, I'm not sure I would have told him.

"Did he hurt you?"

I have to laugh as I remember the slap I gave him. "No. But he got what he deserved for even trying."

Edward's jaw is clenched so tightly that I see the little muscles tick. "I doubt that," he says quietly, and finally he looks at me. It's as if something dark and heavy has fallen behind his eyes, a blackness I'm not entirely sure isn't the source of something dangerous. Something fierce that makes my stomach twist and my pulse race.

"Has anything like that ever happened before?"

I shake my head. "I would never have taken the job if I'd known stuff like this was going on."

He's silent for a moment, the two of us watching Emmett as he buzzes around the playground.

"Why do you work for Marcus?" he says after a moment. "You could dance anywhere."

"You mean like the place out by the airport?" I say, rolling my eyes at him. "Or the place in town that hires underage girls?" Edward's face remains passive. I continue. "Nowhere pays the money Blush does. Besides, Marcus might be a jackass, but it's still the best club in the city. The girls are nice, and until last night, I'd always felt like I was being looked after.

"Honestly, it's nothing. I just want to do my job and not worry about some guy trying to buy his way into my pants."

* * *

Edward is quiet for the remainder of the afternoon. He's all smiles and fist bumps for Emmett, and more than once I feel him looking at me when he thinks I won't notice, but there's a restrained sound to his laughter, an almost but not quite there quality to his smiles, like his body is here but his mind is elsewhere. I can't help but wonder if he's finally beginning to realize that I'm not the person he thinks I am. That maybe all of this—whatever _this_ is—really is too hard.

"Everything okay?" I ask as we pull up outside the apartment building.

He's quiet as I slip out of the car, his hands still resting on the steering wheel as he stares out of the front window.

"Edward?" I say, bending a little to look at him through the open window.

He turns, looking like he's surprised to see me still there.

"You okay?"

He scrubs a hand over his face, sucking in a deep breath. "Yeah. Sorry. I'm just tired."

I hold Emmett in front of me, my hands on top of his chest as I press him against my legs, the feel of his heartbeat against my palm keeping me calm.

"You can always skip babysitting tonight. I don't mind."

"Momma, no!" whines Emmett, but I hush him with a look.

Edward shakes his head. "It's cool. I just need to drop by work to pick something up then I'll come by."

The car starts with a roar, and I nod. Emmett waves as Edward pulls the car away, and I just stand there, wondering if this is how it's going to be for the rest of my life. I feel stupid. Like a teenager falling for the first guy to show her the slightest bit of attention. It reminds me why I've been so careful about letting people in.

But, true to his word, Edward turns up just as I'm about to get Emmett out of the bath. He stands on the other side of the door, his eyes bright and his skin flushed, and seeing him brings on that familiar pull low in my stomach. With a simple half smile and the smell of fresh, cold air that's still clinging to him, I'm right back where I was hours ago—too scared to move forward, but in too deep to pull away.

"You know you don't have to knock, right?" I ask as I usher him inside. "You could probably just come right in."

"I wouldn't want to be rude." I roll my eyes at him. He smiles back, and it's like my insides relax as the clear green of his eyes meet mine, all traces of whatever was troubling him earlier gone. "Next time."

"Did you get what you needed?"

His brows furrow. "Sorry?"

"At the garage? You said you had to get something."

"Oh, yeah. I did. Thanks."

I check my watch, counting the minutes I have left before I really do have to leave.

"Emmett's just having a bath. I don't think he'll be up much longer," I say, wriggling on a pair of shoes.

Edward just nods, tossing his keys onto the kitchen table. "Big day for him I guess."

"Yeah. He's pretty tired…Today was fun," I add. "Thank you. I haven't done something like that for so long. "

For a moment—just a split second—Edward's eyes linger on my mouth, and if I didn't know any better, I'd think he wanted to kiss me. Of course he doesn't. Instead, he runs a hand through his hair and takes a step back. But I'm so used to this dance of ours, to the push and pull of whatever it is that's between us, that I simply grab hold of that flutter of excitement and embrace it.

* * *

That night, after leaving a weary Emmett and Edward with Easy Mac and some cartoons, I throw my things into the truck and haul my butt back to work for the final night of the week.

I see the red and blue flickering almost half a block from the club. It dances across the asphalt and bounces off of the windows, lighting up the night sky. Sure enough, as I swing the truck up the drive and into the lot, I spot the police car.

Marcus is beside it, and I can see the murderous look on his face from a few spaces down. It's not unusual to see a police car here—I don't even want to think about who else is on Marcus' payroll—but it's still quite early, and they don't usually come to a strip club with lights flashing.

I roll the truck into a parking space and close the door quietly, not wanting to disturb Marcus and the cop. It's not until I'm half way across the lot that I see Marcus' yellow Porsche sitting in its usual parking spot under the streetlight.

I feel the color drain from my face, and my pulse hammers against my temples.

Every single panel has been smashed in. Every window is broken. The windscreen has holes in it, and the hood looks like it's been beaten with something big and heavy, leaving fist-sized dents behind. To top it off, the tires have been slashed and there are long scratches down the side of the body that are so deep I can see the silver beneath the paint from where I'm standing. The car is a total mess.

Whoever did it had a point to make and a grudge to bear. And from the look on Marcus' face, they chose the right target. Even beneath the raised welt and black eye staining his cheek I can see that he's livid, fuming, practically writhing with anger.

I have to turn away.

Even as I close the side door behind me I can still see the red and blue flicker in front of my eyes. All I can see when I close my eyes is red and blue and clear green eyes and ink-covered skin.

* * *

**Shit's about to get real. Fair warning. **

**Thank you, as always, to Kitty and Rach for prereading and to Rach for her amazing beta work. All mistakes are mine, clearly. **

**xxx Wink**


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

* * *

The flash of the red and blue police lights still stain the back of my eyelids the next morning. The memory of Marcus' bruised face and the sight of his car—abused beyond repair—bang against the inside of my skull, begging to be given attention. But there are so many other things clanging around up there that I don't know where to begin. I don't know how to sort it all out to form a single coherent thought.

"I think it's clean, Bella."

Looking up from the front counter I find Lauren standing beside me, the coffee pot in her hand and an amused look on her face. She gestures to the counter. "You've been wiping that for the past ten minutes."

I look down at the bench, and then up at her again. I blink a few times, trying to erase the images from my memory.

"You okay?" Her hand rests gently on my arm and she tilts her head to one side, her eyes full of concern.

Something about a friendly face makes me want to let everything tumble out of my mouth. Instead, I press my lips together, pulling the pieces of myself together tightly and tucking them away somewhere safe.

Nodding, I lift the corners of my mouth up and into something that resembles a smile, hoping to appease Lauren. "Of course"—I toss the cloth into the trash and wipe my hands on the front of my apron—"just daydreaming."

Both of us turn to look as the bell over the front door jingles, and one of the regulars strolls in.

"Hey, Bill!" chimes Lauren, leaving me to gather my thoughts and get myself together.

Edward had been asleep when I got home the night before, the blanket I'd left for him pulled up over his legs, the TV still flickering with an old black and white movie. Like the coward I am I'd ignored the questions screaming to be answered. Instead, I'd curled up in bed and tried to sleep, the whole time thinking about the guy sleeping just feet away from me and wondering if he's capable of the things I think he might be. If, somewhere beneath those green eyes, lurks something a little more dangerous.

I don't know why, but as stupid as it is, the idea of Edward doing something like that has ignited something dark inside of me—something vindictive and possessive, something so close to lust that I almost feel ashamed of it. But then the guilt of thinking that someone like Edward, who has done nothing but help me, would do something so calculated sends another wave of shame over me until I'm nothing but a twisted knot of confusion and guilt. Needless to say, sleep did not come easily.

"Bella!" The service bells rings loudly and I jump. Pete is snapping his fingers at me in an attempt to get my attention. "Service up, I said," he says impatiently.

I frown in embarrassment. "Sorry."

The rest of the afternoon is a blur. One minute I'm taking lunch orders, the next I'm punching out and walking to my car. As I reach for the car door my phone starts to ring, and I just know that it's buried somewhere deep in the abyss of my handbag. Cursing, I dump the bag on the ground and crouch down, rifling through the junk as the phone continues to ring.

"Hello?" I almost yell, so sure whoever it is has already hung up.

"Bella?"

I stare at a spot on the ground, trying to pin a familiar face to the voice. "Uh huh?"

"It's Sam."

"Oh!" _Oh._ "Hey, Sam, what's up?"

He sniffs once, a habit he has. "Have you seen Leah?"

Standing, I open the car door and toss my now refilled bag onto the passenger seat. "No. Sorry."

It's totally out of character for Sam to call me, and the strangeness of it makes my mind go blank. Other than Tania calling about work, I really don't socialize with anyone outside of work—especially not Sam.

He's silent for a good ten seconds before I realize that maybe this isn't a social call. "Why?" I ask hesitantly. "Is something up?"

The silence on Sam's end is long, and I can feel the pent up tension rolling through the phone line. "Nah," he says, trying to sound flippant but unable to disguise the distinct edge in his voice. "I haven't seen her since Saturday. Was hoping you'd seen her or something."

"Oh." I frown at the steering wheel, trying to remember the last time I saw Leah. The days all seem to blur into one lately, so while it might have felt like yesterday it could easily have been a week ago. "I haven't seen her since Saturday either."

I try to remember if she said anything about taking a vacation or some time away, but all I can think about is her argument with Marcus.

Sam is silent again, and I'm not sure what to say to make it better. To be honest I don't know if there is anything I can say. It's not unlike to Leah to drop off the face of the earth for a few days, but usually it includes Sam, a stash of powder and pills, and three days without sleep. If she's disappeared without him, maybe it's for a reason.

"Have you checked with Tania?" I ask. "Maybe she's covering a spot in Vegas this week?"

Sam sniffs again. "Yeah. Yeah, maybe." He doesn't sound convinced. "She usually tells me shit like that. Her stuff is here."

I rub my fingers beneath my hair tie, pressing at the spot where my head aches. "Oh, well… maybe she just forgot."

He mumbles something in answer, and I can tell he's still not convinced. But it's getting late, and I'd like to miss the school traffic on the way home with Emmett. Luckily, Sam decides I'm no use and mumbles something like a thank you and hangs up.

But, as I drive across town my conversation with Sam continues to niggle at the back of my mind. Sitting at a set of lights, I reach across and fish my phone out of my bag.

The call goes straight to voicemail, sending a cold finger of fear down my spine.

"Leah, it's Bella," I say, shouldering my phone as I shift gears. "Sam just called me looking for you. He sounded kind of worried. To be honest I'm kind of worried too. Call me, girl. Please?"

I hang up, but keep the phone in my lap in the hope that she calls.

She doesn't.

* * *

That night when I arrive home with Emmett, Neda corners me, practically begging me to let her take him for a few hours before dinner. I'm tempted to say no, sure that she'll fill him full of sweet things, but Neda and Amun are the closest thing Emmett will ever have to grandparents, so I can't deny him a little time with them.

Plus, the idea of a few hours on my own is too good to pass up.

The thing is, though, without Emmett the apartment is too quiet. I turn the TV to a random station, hoping to fill the silence. I change out of my work uniform and hang it, ready for the next day. I get a can of soup out for dinner, and even go so far as to pour it into the pot, ready for heating. After that I've exhausted my list of things to do, and it takes maybe fifteen minutes before my thoughts begin to drift a few doors down.

I think about calling Edward, but after last night I need to _see_ him. I need to see his face when I ask him about Marcus. I need the truth, and the only place I'm going to find it is with Edward.

Wound tight like a ball of nerves, I procrastinate for another twenty minutes, practising what I'm going to say to him over and over in my head. Finally, after i'm sure i've worn away the carpet with my pacing, I give in.

I stand outside his apartment for too long, staring at the brassy numbers on the front of his door. When I finally work up the nerve to knock, my body tenses up in anticipation. I wait, but there's no answer. So I knock again a little louder, my courage waning. Still nothing.

My hand drops to my side. I hadn't even entertained the idea that he wouldn't be home, and the feeling of disappointment is knee-weakening. I'd wanted answers, I'd wanted to be able to put to rest the mess of questions in my head, but more than anything else, I'd just had the overwhelming urge to see him.

Back in my apartment, I sit my phone beside me on the couch as I try to take my mind off of him with reality TV. Normally, I would relish the chance to sit and watch a show without Emmett climbing all over me, but tonight nothing seems to be able to settle me. I find myself glancing at my phone more than once, wishing for it to ring, or willing myself to have enough courage to call.

I curse myself for not keeping hard liquor in the house, because what I wouldn't give for one drink right now. With one hand clenched tightly in a fist, I suck in a deep breath as the other reaches for the phone.

_Do it. _

_Just do it. _

I type out a quick message, hoping it sounds casual even though I'm a mess. I type it out again. I erase it. I retype it for a third time and then stare down at the text, considering each letter of each word. I erase half of it and press send before I go completely insane.

With my phone in one hand and the TV remote in the other, I sit and wait. And wait.

Impatient, I get up and tidy Emmett's room a little and wash the breakfast bowls. I pay the utility and rent bills, an instant headache forming as I see what's left in my bank account afterward. I slide my work bag out from underneath my bed and pull a few outfits from it and, while I'm still waiting for the trill of my message tone, wash the delicate pieces in the bathroom sink.

I'm wringing out a pair of thigh-high stockings when I hear it. I lunge so quickly for my phone that I knock it clean off the bathroom bench. With wet, wrinkly hands and my heart in my throat, I pick it up and tap through to the text message.

Edward is out of town for a few days. He doesn't say where or why, just that he'll be back on Thursday. The disappointment that had earlier been such a shock is now just a heavy feeling in my stomach, almost sick and achy, like there's something cold and hard lodged in my gut.

I pocket my phone, wring the stockings out, and continue with my washing.

Two months ago I would never have believed I could be so caught up, so utterly spun, by a guy. I'd thought I had everything I needed in Emmett. And I don't doubt—not for a second—that he is by far the most important thing in my life, and that no matter what, he'll always be my first priority. But being around Edward and spending time with another adult has made me realize there are things my son can't give me.

I wring out a gauzy negligee, squeezing hard.

I can't expect a four-year-old to be a confidant, to be someone I can turn to when things get tough. I love him with every single fiber of my being, but still, something inside me feels like it's woken up. A familiar, but long forgotten energy is waking up inside me and searching for the kind of feelings being around Edward gives me. And the resurgence of this energy, this all-encompassing feeling of being attracted to and falling for someone, is addictive. I've had a little taste of it, and like an addict I want more.

* * *

The rest of the week plays out much the same, but in slow motion. The days at the diner are long, and every night when Em and I get home, I find myself glancing toward Edward's door, listening for movement and hoping to catch a glimpse of him. By the time Thursday rolls around I'm a complete wreck. I spend the whole day waiting for him to appear, to call, to find his car sitting outside, but by six o'clock, as I'm trying my hardest to concentrate on cooking Emmett's dinner, I still haven't seen him.

By seven fifty-five I'm done waiting. As soon as Emmett is asleep I throw a hoodie on over my diner uniform, lock the front door and check it twice. My hand is raised before I even reach his door.

As soon as I knock it's like all the courage drains out of me, and I realize I have no idea what I'm going to say anymore. My mind has gone wind-tunnel empty. Of course as soon as I realize this, the door opens, and I'm left standing in the hallway with a blank expression and a blank mind.

Edward looks almost surprised to see me standing there. I watch as a handful of emotions ricochet over his face before he reins it in, settling for that soft but passive expression he wears so often. "Hey."

"Hi." I pause, trying to make up a reason for turning up at his doorstep unannounced. "How are you?"

He pulls the door closed a little, standing between it and the frame. "Good," he says with a nod. "How are you?"

His voice is like a balm on my frayed nerves, and it feels familiar and welcomed as it sinks into the space between my ears. "Fine," I reply, my stomach twisting. "Emmett is asleep, so I won't stay long. I just wanted to say hi, and uh… to see if you still wanted to come to Emmett's birthday next weekend?"

Edward straightens a little, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "You still want me to come around?"

I smooth my hand over my bangs, feeling a little shy under the weight of his eyes. I nod, chewing on the inside of my cheek to stop from blurting out everything that's tumbling around in my head. "Emmett would like that." I swallow hard. "_I'd_ like that."

He gives me a long, thoughtful look and then nods. "I'd like that, too."

I have to bite my lip to stop from smiling too hard, and when he gives me a half-smile back I have to look away. There's an undeniable shift in the air around us, like the air between us hums with something electric. Sometime over the past week something has changed, and we both know it. Even with the time spent apart, I can feel us settle into that comfortable rhythm we have.

"So, Marcus got jumped the other night," I say, surprised that the words actually come out of my mouth. "He says some guys knocked him out and trashed his car."

Edward doesn't look surprised. "Oh, yeah?"

I nod. "They didn't mess around."

Edward crosses his arms over his chest and leans, ever so casually, against the door frame. "Sounds like he got what he deserved."

A wry smile works its way across my lips as I think about how much I'd wished I could have been the one to give him the black eye. "Yeah, I guess so."

Edward's eyes are piercing but sincere, like they always are when he's listening, but there's something soft in them tonight. Something that tugs on the centre of my chest like it's drawing me to him. Something that makes me want to fall into him and press my face to the space between his neck and shoulder and disappear.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask," Edward says. "I might not answer."

"Did you give him the black eye?"

He shakes his head.

"But you know who did."

True to form, he doesn't answer—not that I'd expected him to—but his silence says more than I could ask for.

Standing in front of him finally, seeing the way he looks as me, I find that I don't care what his answer might be. I don't care where he was on Saturday night, or where he's been for the last few days. All I care about is that he's here, right now, standing in front of me and looking at me like he's afraid that _I'm_ the one who's going to disappear.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow night?" I ask, backing up a step, pulling myself out of his orbit and out of the pull of his eyes before I do something I might regret.

Edward nods, and the very slight upward curve of his lips is the last thing I see before I turn away.

* * *

The next night, as I'm pulling baked potatoes out of the oven, he turns up on my doorstep, just like he said he would.

He's just in jeans and a T-shirt, but there's something so effortlessly comfortable and cool about him. His thick leather jacket looks soft and worn, and the thin cotton of his T-shirt is enough to make my mouth run dry and my heart race. I can't take my eyes off of it all through dinner, and it makes me feel like such a pervert, but every time he shifts I see the outline of something dark press against the underside of the shirt. I can't make out what it is. But like everything else about Edward, what's underneath his careful exterior is a mystery I desperately want to solve.

As I stand to clear the table, I yelp as something hard and pointy stabs the underside of my foot and my arm shoots out as I lose my balance. Edward steadies me with a hand on my arm, and my hand instinctively reaches for him as I right myself. Sucking in a breath through my teeth, I use him to balance as I lift my foot, plucking the piece of blue Lego from between my toes.

"Ouch," I whine, hopping around a little. "Stupid Lego."

"You okay?" he asks, looking a little concerned, but mostly amused as he watches me hop around with my foot in my hand.

I nod, straightening up. It's not until I drop the Lego piece onto the table behind him that I notice Edward's hand is still resting lightly against my shoulder. It's as if we both notice at the same time, and he immediately removes his hand, letting it drop to his side.

It doesn't escape my notice that this is the first time he's touched me. I don't think he realizes it, but he's so good at keeping me at arm's length that the quick brush of his fingers against my arm is the closest we've been since we met.

Although, from the way his fingers clench and unclench at his side, maybe he does know it.

Work that night is a blur. For hours on end it's as though I can feel his fingerprints burned into my skin. I keep expecting to look down as see my skin blackened and charred where his hand was. The only thing that works its way through my scrambled brain is the realization about halfway through the night that Leah still isn't at work. I ask around a little, but most of the girls don't have a clue, and Tania is nowhere to be found either. I call Leah's phone while I'm on break, but it goes straight to her voicemail again. I don't bother leaving a message this time, but send her a text, checking in to make sure she's okay.

When I walk through my front door at four a.m., with thoughts of Leah still running through my brain, I'm so tired I barely notice Edward until I switch the lamp on. Yellow light floods the living room, and my breath catches in my throat as my eyes take in the scene. Something deep inside of me clenches so hard I feel tears spring up behind my eyes.

Edward is asleep, his long legs stretched out in front of him, with a sleeping Emmett curled up in his lap. Emmett is tucked under the blanket with Edward, his little blond head resting against Edward's shoulder as the two of them sleep.

I'm not really sure what to do. I don't want to wake either of them, but I also can't leave Emmett there for the night. It's a strange feeling, seeing Emmett curled up in Edward's arms. It's indescribable because it's a thousand feelings mixed into one, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

I drop my bag at my feet quietly, and when I look up again Edward's eyes are open, realization alighting his features when he sees what I see. With what I hope is a reassuring smile, I reach my arms out for Emmett. Edward just stands, effortlessly lifting him in his arms. Trailing close behind, I watch as he sits Emmett gently on the bed before stepping out to let me tuck him in.

I reach over to switch the nightlight on and pull the thick bedding up over Emmett's back before leaning in to kiss him goodnight.

Edward is standing by the couch again, his hair a mess from sleep, but his eyes sharp and clear, intense even in the dark of my apartment. The way he stands, the way his eyes soften and his breath slows, I know he wants to come closer, to close the space between us, and I can't deny I want him to.

"Thank you," I say quietly.

Raking a hand over his hair, Edward shrugs. "He said he couldn't sleep. I figured I'd put him back in his bed once he did, but, uh…" A soft smile lifts the corner of his mouth, and even beneath the hair on his face I can see the spots of pink appear on his cheeks. "I guess we both fell asleep."

I walk him to the front door, stopping just a few feet away. "I really don't mind." I tuck my hands into my back pockets. "It's… it's nice to see him comfortable around you, I guess."

Edward rubs a hand over the back of his neck, and I catch a glimpse of the underside of his bicep, where even more ink creeps over his skin. "Yeah. Well. He's a good kid. It's easy to like him."

I nod, unable to keep the pride-filled smile from my face. "He is a good kid. I don't know how it happened."

The shyness slips from Edward's features, and he lifts his head to look me in the eye. "He gets it from you, Bella."

My skin prickles as my name slips from his mouth, and the phantom burn of skin against mine from earlier reappears. "Emmett is…" I exhale slowly. "Emmett is all of the best parts of me. Even the parts I can't find anymore."

Edward is quiet, his eyes assessing me. I reach for the door handle, kicking myself for so effectively putting a dampener on our conversation.

He turns to me, just as I'm about to open the door. "I know you see his dad when you look at him," he says quietly. "You see your mistakes. You see the things he doesn't have. But all I see when I look at him is you. The best parts of you. Even if you don't."

He's so close I can see the pulse beat in the spot between his collarbones and the all of the colorful ink that covers his throat. I try to look anywhere but right at him. Instead I look down at his hands, at the way his fingers work, his thumb pressed against their backs until they pop.

When I look up and he's looking at me with those eyes that really see me.

I've always wondered what he sees when he looks at me, but right now, right here, with his words lingering in the air between us, it's plain to see, and the intensity of his expression is enough to seize my insides and make my heart jump.

Edward sees _me_ when he looks at me. Not a stripper. Not Rose. Not Mommy. Not even the Bella I wear for everyone else, but _me_. I feel exposed, flayed open and vulnerable like I've never felt before. It's exhilarating and frightening and exciting.

And that's when I know that this is it. There's no turning back. This is the moment I screw everything up. This is the moment I put everything out there for him to see. It's now or never.

I count to three, digging deep to find the courage I know is down there somewhere. I ignore the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears and the sheen of moisture that's appeared on my palms. I press forward on my toes, lifting my lips to his, and I kiss him.

* * *

**Thank you to everyone for your kind words. To Rach, Kitty and Rach for their eyes and for their never-ending support. **

**xx Wink**


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

The kiss is fast and chaste, and although it's obvious Edward wasn't expecting it, for a split second I feel his lips against mine, and everything feels right in the world.

I pull away quickly, pressing my hand to my mouth as heat flashes up my neck and into my cheeks. I can't decide if it's from embarrassment or excitement.

I can't look at him, so I look at the floor instead. I can't bear to see the look on his face, the one that says I've made a mistake. "I'm so sorry," I whisper shakily, looking at my feet, at a place on the wall beside him, anywhere but right at him. "I don't know…I didn't…" I let out a long, slow breath.

Edward is quiet. And I know he's always quiet, but right now all I want is for him to say something—_anything_—and he doesn't. So like the masochist I am I look up at him, because not looking at him feels worse, and who knows, after what just happened it might be the last time I get to see him up close.

His jaw is tight but his eyes are bright, focused on me with enough intensity to send my pulse slamming against the back of my tongue. My cheeks flame. I want the earth to open up and swallow me right here. I want to press rewind on the remote. Looking away, I hold the front door open and wait as Edward steps out into the hallway. When he turns, his eyes find mine again and the burn of embarrassment singes my insides. I have to avert my eyes lest I burst into flames right here in my apartment.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" I try to sound confident, but the fact that I can't even bear to look at him makes it hard.

He nods, eyes hard, and I close the door.

The door isn't closed all the way when the sound of his palm slamming against the wood echoes down the hallway, and I can feel him pressing against the other side, urging it open. The hinges creak as it opens again, and all it takes is two of his long strides and Edward is back in the apartment, his lips pressed firmly against mine in a kiss that knocks the breath right out of me.

All I can smell and taste and feel is him. His mouth is slow but insistent, like he's taking his time. It makes my knees tremble and my hands shake. His kiss makes me feel like every kiss I've had before this one has been wrong, and this—this is _so right_.

He moves impossibly closer, and when his mouth opens a little, the taste of him and the pressure of his tongue against mine are enough to send my brain into overload. It's like all the tiny pieces that have been holding me together for so long begin to unravel and unfurl like a roll of ribbon. I feel like I'm falling apart.

Edward pulls away a little but my lips chase his, seeking more as my fingers press into the back of his neck to bring him closer. The muscles in his shoulders relax as I mold my body to his, and while his lips are gentle, maybe even a little hesitant, his hands are firm against my hips as he holds me to him. The soft press of his lips in contrast with the grip of his hands at my hips consumes me. He consumes me. His kisses are everything and I can't even feel the ground beneath my feet. All I feel is Edward.

We're both breathing hard when he pulls away, and his warm breath rushes over my lips as he presses his forehead to mine. I don't want to open my eyes for fear he'll disappear like a dream. Instead, I slide a hand from his shoulder to his chest, where the beat of his racing heart against my palm reminds me he's real.

My eyes are still closed when a moment later—without a word—he kisses me once more, pressing his lips lightly to the spot just beside my mouth. He steps back like it's nothing, while I'm left unable to remember my name or what my life was like before he kissed me.

I don't open my eyes until I hear the quiet click of the front door, and even then I spend ten minutes staring at the space in front of me with my fingers pressed to my lips, the skin tingling like little rivers of electricity under my fingers. On jelly-like legs I drift through the apartment in a daze, turning off the lights and slipping into bed, not even bothering to change out of my clothes. When my head hits the pillow I'm sure I won't sleep, that memories of Edward's lips pressed against mine will keep me awake. But when, hours later, I wake to the sight of sunlight peeking in beneath my curtains, I feel like I've slept for days.

Only half awake, I strip out of my wrinkled clothing and slide back into bed. I'm just about to fall asleep again when the end of my bed dips softly, and I can't help but smile into my pillow as something heavy slowly crawls up toward me.

"Are you wake yet, Momma?" Emmett whispers.

He squeals as I grab him, digging my fingers into the ticklish spots over his ribs and under his arms. He laughs until his cheeks are red and his eyes are glassy with tears.

I thought I'd grow out of loving hearing him laugh, but now that he's older and I know how to pull these bubbly little giggles out of him, I find I love every single one just a little more than the last.

After he's calmed down, I lift the comforter and he dives beneath the covers, burying his face into my pillows. This morning he smells like his shampoo and strangely enough something that reminds me of pine or cedar, something woody and wintery, like he's been outside in the park. I can't place it exactly, but whatever it is, it's all Emmett. Of course, in a few hours he'll probably smell like kid sweat and peanut butter, which I'll love equally as much.

As if to pull me out of my kid-smell-induced haze, Emmett presses his cold feet against my thighs, causing me to yelp. Shifting away a little, I set my head on the pillow beside his. "What do you want to do today?"

"Uhhhmmmmm…pizza?"

I laugh, squeezing the end of his nose. "I mean do you want to go to the park? Or maybe we could take a drive to the beach again?"

"The beach?" he squeaks, his eyes bright. "Can I swim in the water?"

"I think it's a little cold, baby. Maybe when it gets a little warmer."

He contemplates my answer for a moment. "Can I make santastles?" I nod, and he squirms excitedly. "Can Edward come?"

The sound of his name makes the inside of my chest flutter. "You'll see him tonight when he comes over. How about just you and me today, huh?"

He shrugs. "'Kay."

I pat his bottom, ushering him out of my bed. "How about you go into your bedroom and pop some socks on, and I'll make you breakfast."

"Okay!" he chirps.

He scampers out of the room, and I get out of bed, realizing as I stand that I slept in my jeans and sweater. I slip out of my old clothes and into something warm before ducking into the bathroom for a moment. I splash some water on my face and tie my hair up loosely, barely able to look at myself in the mirror without smiling.

The girl in the reflection is not new but she's different. There's something bright in her eyes, like they're lit from behind. The pink in her cheeks, normally reserved for embarrassed flushes and cold wintery days, gives her skin a healthy touch. The girl in the mirror is me, but a better version of me.

Maybe it's not even that I look different, but I feel different. Like that kiss has ignited a pilot light and now I'm nothing but fire and heat and flame and nothing, not even the weather outside or the bills on my fridge can put it out.

* * *

Later that night, I hear Edward knock gently as he opens the front door, and my heart begins its familiar race.

"Hello?"

"In here," I call back.

I hear his boots cross the living room floor, hear the floorboards creak as he enters the hallway, and I look up as he pokes his head into the bathroom hesitantly.

"Hey."

I smile up at him from the floor beside the bath, where Emmett sits in a warm pool of bubbles and toys. Edward takes a step into the bathroom, smiling. His is It's a brand new smile today, too. It's bright and warm and all at once I'm greedy. I want to be the reason he smiles that way. I want that smile to be mine, for me—directed at me. I want more.

But then when it comes to Edward, all I ever want is more.

"Hey, Edward!" says Em, flinging bathwater around.

"Hey!" I splash him back, laughing. "Watch it."

Leaning against the bathroom door, Edward watches as I tip Emmett's head back, letting the warm water rinse the shampoo out of his hair. "How was your day?"

"It was nice," I reply, looking up at him.

"We went to the beach!" yells Emmett, as if Edward might have trouble hearing him over the sound of his splashing.

"The beach?"

Emmett nods. "Yeah. I runned on the sand and I almost got splashed by a wave but I ran so it didn't got me." Emmett continues, barely stopping for breath. "And I chased the birds again like last time but Momma said not to go too far so I camed back and then we made sandta-sandta…"

Emmett looks to me for help. "Sandcastles."

He nods, his wet hair shaking water over his face. "Yeah."

Edward crosses his arms over his chest, nodding along with Emmett's story. His hands are bright spots against his dark T-shirt, and just the sight of them makes me think about seeing them wrapped around Em the night before, and then later on, around my hips.

"You must be tired," he says, still hesitant to come any further. I can't blame him really—there's a naked kid sitting just four feet away. He and Emmett might be close, but I don't think Edward is quite at the naked kid stage yet.

"Pretty tired," replies Emmett, making piles of bubbles in his wrinkly little hands.

"Too bad," says Edward with a hint of feigned seriousness. "I got the new _Cars_ movie."

Emmett is out of the bath before Edward has a chance to look away.

"Hey!" I laugh, wrapping him in a towel quickly. "Let's not give Edward a show, okay?"

I glance at Edward in the mirror, seeing only the back of his head as he turns to face the other way, and I can just imagine the smirk on his face. I towel off Emmett's hair and slip him into his PJs while Edward waits patiently, his tall frame taking up almost the entire doorway.

"Okay," I say, kissing Emmett loudly on the cheek. "All done."

He squeals, does a karate kick—narrowly missing my head—and runs off past Edward.

I stay sitting on the bathroom floor for a moment, Emmett's sodden towel in my lap.

It doesn't escape me, the knowledge that I'm alone with Edward; instead, it crackles in the air around me, it buzzes in my ears and presses against my skin like a reminder of the night before. But I don't know whether to play it cool and act like I haven't been thinking about him all day, or whether to just lay it all out there.

When he reaches out for my hand, the heart-stopping smile from earlier has softened into something that's still so sweet I want to kiss him again just to see if it tastes good. Pretending the kiss never happened is out of the question.

Standing, I jerk my head toward the shower. "I better get ready for work."

He doesn't move, and in my tiny bathroom our bodies are so close I can feel the heat radiating off him. I feel his knuckles graze the back of my hand softly, and his touch lights me up like a live wire. Somehow the brief touch of his skin against mine feels more intimate than the kiss from the night before. So much so that when he leaves I have to turn the shower onto cold for a moment just to cool the blood that's practically boiling in my veins.

Even after I calm a little I still can't help but think that he's _right out there_ and I'm in here, naked, flushed, battling with a wave of lust so sudden it makes my knees tremble. Somehow I make it through my shower without falling into a heap at the bottom of the tub, and when I finish, he and Emmett are sitting in front of the TV.

"Dude," says Edward quietly. "You'll get square eyes."

I watch as he tucks his hands under Emmett's arms and lifts him back up onto the couch the same way I do. Seeing Edward interact with Emmett is indescribable. My love for Emmett and the joy that comes with seeing him happy tugs at my heart, while something like regret and even fear echoes in the back of my mind, reminding me that Emmett will never know his father, and that at any minute Edward could disappear are quickly as he appeared. As well as that, there's the shot of straight lust that refuels the heat beneath my skin as I watch this guy with a rough exterior hang out with my four-year-old kid like it's the most natural thing in the world.

The mix of feelings is dizzying.

When I'm ready to leave, I lean over the back of the couch and give Emmett a kiss goodbye but he barely notices, too engrossed in the movie. Edward looks at me over the back of the cushions as I straighten up, and I can't even describe how much I want to kiss him, too. It feels like every cell in my body is reaching for him.

He nods a goodbye, watching me leave, looking at me with that undecipherable gaze he has that turns me inside out.

* * *

Leah is not at work when I arrive. There are a few of her things still on the dressing table, but the rest of her belongings are gone. I try hard to make myself believe she's doing a few weeks at either the LA or Vegas club, but no matter how hard I try, unease still tickles the back of my mind, like an itch I can't find the source of. Marcus is a no show, too. The last time I saw him he was nursing a black eye and a filthy temper. Tania is still around though, ever his eyes and ears when he's not around. So even with everything going on around me, I put my head down and work. I don't need attention on me any more than it already seems to be.

Besides Leah and Marcus' absence, it's a fairly uneventful Saturday night. I make okay tips—enough to buy some food for the week ahead and maybe some new shoes for Emmett's birthday. The night slips by in a blur of skin and lights and fake smiles, and before I know it I'm walking to my truck with feet that feel like they're made of lead and a stomach full of butterflies.

I'm so wrapped up in my head, wondering if Edward will be asleep when I get home, when someone steps out from the shadows right in front of my truck I jump back so quickly I almost fall over.

Sam looks like he hasn't slept in days. His dark hair is a mess and his eyes are dark hollows ringed with purple skin. "Jesus, Sam," I hiss, holding a hand over my heart as it struggles to find a regular rhythm.

"Have you seen her? Is she in there?" he asks, stepping toward me.

I take an instinctive step back, keeping some space between us. "No. You still haven't heard from Leah?"

He shakes his head. "No one's heard anything for over a week."

Tanya's words from last Saturday night come echoing back into my consciousness. _"Who knows what Marcus will do." _My skin cools instantly, like someone has flooded my veins with ice water. I pull my jacket tighter around me.

Sam steps forward and the wild look in his eyes sends a bolt of fear through me. "You'd tell me if you'd seen her, right? You wouldn't lie to me?"

I have to swallow through the lump of fear lodged in my throat. "I haven't seen her, Sam. I'd tell you if I had."

His face crumples, and for a moment I think he's going to cry. Instead, he lets out a pained sound that echoes around the parking lot and sends a wave of goose bumps over my skin. "Fuck," he spits. "FUCK!" I'm about to really start freaking out when he starts talking and pacing. "He's done something. She's…" He lashes out, kicking the side panel of my truck. "I told her to shut her mouth but she never listens, and now…"

"Now what?" I whisper, but it's as if he's forgotten I'm even there.

He turns his back to me, both hands clasped behind his head like he's trying to catch his breath, and then suddenly his body collapses until he's got his head between his knees, his hands still clutching at his hair as he lets out another moan. "Fucking…" His voice is quiet, muffled by his position. "I can't believe he did this."

I reach out, but he stands suddenly, almost losing his footing. He's breathing so hard I can see his chest rise and fall through his clothes. "I'll kill him," he hisses. "If he's touched her I'll fucking kill him."

My pulse races. "Who, Sam?"

I reach for him again in an attempt to calm him down, but he pulls away, his eyes crazed—almost feral—as he looks behind me at the club. "I'll kill him. I swear to God."

I'm still reaching for him when he disappears into the final gray hours of the morning.

* * *

Edward is not only awake when I get home, but he's on the phone. He's talking quietly while the TV flickers in front of him, the sound muted. I wave a silent hello, and he lifts his head in greeting.

I try not to eavesdrop on his conversation, but the apartment is so small and so quiet that I can't help but hear anyway.

"Yeah. No…I said no."

He looks up as I pass between my bedroom and the bathroom. With the phone pressed to his ear his eyes blaze a trail to my feet and back before they rest on my face. I've never met anyone who can say so much with their silence.

"I said I'll be there," he says, returning to his hushed call.

I wash my makeup off, watching the last pieces of my alter ego swirl in the water before disappearing down the drain. I pull my hair up and pat my skin dry and glance up at my reflection in the mirror. Without the mask I feel bare again, plain, unremarkable, but I feel like me.

Edward has finished his conversation when I come out, and he stands, pocketing his phone.

"Emmett didn't give you too much trouble?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Fell asleep not long after you left."

We stand quietly, facing each other, both waiting for the other to say something. Well, I am anyway. As usual, Edward is looking at me like he can read me like a book, like I'm the one with the words written all over my skin.

"You okay?" he asks.

Shrugging, I pull the sleeves of my sweater over my hands. "I just had a strange night." He looks at me, waiting for me to continue. "I guess you're used to hearing that by now though, huh?"

Edward sits beside me as I fold my legs beneath me on the couch. "I think one of the girls from the club has gone missing."

"How long has she been gone?"

"Her boyfriend hasn't seen her since last weekend."

Edward nods, his eyes assessing. "You're worried about her."

Guilt makes my skin warm. "I wasn't. Not until her boyfriend showed up tonight."

We're silent, him with his eyes on me, me with mine on my lap. "He's worried something's happened to her. That someone…" I can't even force the words out of my mouth for fear that saying them will make them real. I look up and find Edward's eyes on my hands where they twist together in my lap. "She and Marcus had a huge fight last Saturday. It was crazy; I've never heard anything like it. Someone told him Leah had been cutting him short on her tips. I guess he wasn't very happy."

Edward looks away, his jaw ticking, and I know that the blank look on his face means that there's something going on inside his head that he doesn't want to share. He cracks his knuckles, staring at the flickering TV.

I snort. "You must think I'm an idiot for working there."

He turns, and the passive look on his face softens. "I don't think you're an idiot."

I'm trying my best to think about Leah, to hold on to the worry and doubt, but with just one look it's like it's all evaporated. He looks at me like he finds me the most interesting thing in the room, and I don't know why, because all I can think about when he's near is how badly I want him to kiss me.

"I better go," he says, as if he can read my mind.

He stands, and I scramble to my feet. "Sure. I forget it's so late for everyone else. Or early."

I have to pull myself up quickly as he stops suddenly. He turns to me. "I—uh—next Friday night—the night before Emmett's birthday?" I nod. "I have to go out of town. I don't know if I'll be back before you start work."

"Oh, sure," I reply. "That's fine." Curiosity runs rampant in my head, but I keep it controlled. "I'll see if he can spend the night with the Eizadis. I'm sure they won't mind."

He nods, keeping silent, and just like every night before we begin our dance at the front door. We make quiet small talk, we get a little closer with each minute, but then he steps away.

He's mid sentence when I realize I'm not listening to him at all, just watching his mouth move.

"You can kiss me you know." The words are out of my mouth before I have a chance to check them.

Edward swallows hard, his gaze flickering between my mouth and my eyes. From his expression, there's a war going on in his head. Finally, he says, "I know."

My muscles tense with the restraint it takes to stop from leaning forward to kiss him. I want _him_ to kiss _me_. I need to know I'm not the only one who spent all day thinking about last night.

He sighs, and I shake my head. "You're not going to, are you?"

Any disappointment I have is washed away when Edward smiles gently. "I don't want you to think that's why I'm here."

"So you don't want to kiss me?"

My smile matches his. This close to him I already know his answer. I can see it in the way he keeps looking at my mouth and the way he keeps leaning in a little before swaying back, like he's keeping himself in check, holding back.

"I shouldn't want to," he says, reaching up to run a hand across the back of his neck. "But I can't think about anything else."

My heart skips a beat in reply. Finally knowing what's going on in his head sends a thrill through me. Knowing it's me causing him to unravel like this isn't just flattering, it's a complete ego trip. All I want to do is kiss him just so I can see what he looks like when he finally releases the stronghold he has on himself.

He moves forward until he's so close I can feel the material of his jacket brush against my shirt when he breathes. "It's all I've been thinking about for a while.

"But you're in control here, Bella. You have to lead, otherwise"—he tucks his bottom lip between his teeth and a wave of lust rolls up my spine—"I'll do something I'll regret later."

This time when my cheeks warm I don't hide it. I want him to know how he makes me feel. I want him to see that the things he says, the things he does, affect me more than I let on.

His free hand brushes gently against my cheek and he smiles indulgently, a laugh tucked in the end of his breath. "Actually, I wouldn't regret it. Not for a second." He drops his hand back to his side. "But you might. And I don't want to be another complication in your life."

I'm touched by his thoughtfulness, I really am, but the logical side of my brain has taken a back seat and all I can think about is his warmth and the taste of his mouth and the touch of his hands. I exhale shakily, reaching out to tug on his shirt. "I'm not going to pretend my life is anything less than complicated, Edward." I can see his chest rising and falling right before my eyes; proof he's not as unaffected by this as he seems. "But I've made it this far alone, so if wanting you makes me stupid or selfish, then that's something I'm willing to live with.

"Because, Edward," I whisper, and I feel his hand tighten around mine. "I _need_ you to kiss me"—I press my head to his chest, swallowing the urge to bury myself against him—"because if you don't, I'm going to lose my mind."

He doesn't reply. He just kisses me.

Thank God.

* * *

**My never ending thanks to The Rachels and to Kitty, whom I adore. To everyone who leaves a review. To all of your lovely words on FB and Twitter. **


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

I wake with a start, my heart pounding and my mouth dry. The edges of a dream press against the back of my eyelids, but the more awake I become the harder it is to keep a grasp on it.

Trying to capture the last fragments of the dream, I close my eyes. My body tightens as I see flashes of ink and skin. I see hands that I'm dying to feel the touch of and long fingers dancing over areas that send shivers through me. I see clear green eyes and the shape of a mouth that presses against mine in a way that makes my skin flush and my knees weak.

I close my eyes and I see Edward, his body pressed against mine.

Embarrassingly, I don't realize my hand is tucked down the front of my underwear until I move my fingers and the burst of sensation makes my knees clamp shut around my wrist. Gasping, my heart kicks up a beat and the skin on my arms prickles. I swallow hard around a throat tight with arousal. My fingers are slick enough that I know I'm close, and the beat of the pulse thumping between my legs is a sure sign that I'm teetering on the edge of something.

Hesitating for a moment, I listen for sounds of movement, my cheeks flushing as I contemplate what I'm about to do.

There's nothing. Not a single sound.

Slowly, my legs release the death grip they have on my hand, and I close my eyes. I breathe deep, letting my body relax. The memory of Edward's lips against my neck the night before is enough to make my hand move again, and instantly I'm right there. I'm so wound up that all it takes is a few minutes and a few passes of my fingers and I'm burying my face into my pillow and bucking my hips into my hand. The blood pools in my cheeks and my hairline dampens instantly as white spots explode behind my eyelids and heat pulses through my body, making me squirm and buck and writhe until the feeling subsides, leaving me flushed and soft-limbed.

_Wow._

Taking a shaky breath in, I throw the covers back, delighting in the feel of the cold air against my heated skin.

I can't remember how long it's been since I felt the urge to touch myself. Sure, there have been flashes of lust or fleeting moments of desire for the touch of another, but that's all they've ever been—fleeting. Waking up so turned on that I can barely breathe is definitely something new.

Of course now that I remember how good it feels—to release the tension that feels like it's been coiled up in my body for months—I'm immediately thinking about doing it again.

Smiling, I bury my face into my pillow, feeling a mix of sated and embarrassed. I can't believe just got off thinking about Edward. How will I be able to look at him again without remembering?

Suddenly the sound of something hitting the floor in the kitchen breaks the silence in the apartment. I wait a beat, waiting for what's next, and then, "Oh-oh…" yells Emmett from the kitchen. "Mommaaaaa!" And just like that, the moment is gone.

Emmett and I spend the day playing games and sitting in the park. We watch some cartoons, and I make soup and toast for dinner later, too relaxed to do any more. Edward is out, but God knows the space is nice, the chance to breathe and clear my head.

He's letting me take whatever this is at my own pace, letting me lead the way, and for that I'm grateful. But after this morning, how can I trust myself to set a steady pace? It's dizzying how quickly I'm falling for him, and scary how much I'm not sure if I want to.

I was sure after Emmett was born that there would never be any room left in my heart. That having him would fill my quota of love to give. When he was born it was like my body automatically made room in my heart for him, and the first time he looked up at me with those so familiar blue eyes it already felt natural. Like breathing, blinking, laughing, I loved him. I was _in love_ with him. And I thought that was it for me.

But now with Edward, I can feel the little pieces inside me shifting, making room, opening up. I wonder what it would be like to love someone like him, to be loved by someone like Edward, and the thought of it stills the breath in my lungs.

All at once I know exactly what it would be like.

Breathless.

Intense.

Consuming.

I don't know if I'm ready to fall for him. I don't know if I'm ready to be consumed and to give my heart to someone again. Not when I've worked so hard to protect it for so long. I'm flying blind, and all I can do is follow my instincts and hope to God I'm not making a huge mistake.

* * *

"…and he's super nice. He's just moved into his own place, and he adores kids."

Lauren is beside me, watching me clean the coffee machine, talking more than working. I pretend to listen but actually stare out over the top of the machine, letting my mind wander. The past two weeks have been a blur. Emmett's birthday is Sunday, and it's crept up on me. I'm excited to give him the presents I've been carefully saving for, and he's going to lose his mind when I take him to the fun park for the day, but even so, I don't know if I'm ready to deal with him being another year older.

Suddenly, Lauren flicks my arm, snapping me out of a daze. "Were you even listening?"

I blink rapidly, apologizing. "I guess I zoned out."

"I was telling you about my cousin Jake." I nod. Lauren rolls her eyes, feigning exasperation. "Anyway," she says, "he just moved here. He's new in town, and I thought it would be nice if he had someone to show him around."

My brows shoot up. "You think I'm that person?"

Lauren shrugs. "Why not?"

I don't even bother with a reply. I simply continue to wipe over the coffee machine, pretending I can't hear her when she starts up again.

"I guess he's cute in a he's-my-cousin kind of way," she says, her nose wrinkled. She hands me a filter—ignoring me ignoring her. "He works for a small law firm in the city somewhere, family law mostly…I think…"

She goes on, but I tune her out, instead intent on cleaning every last coffee grind from every last nook and cranny of the coffee machine.

"You'd like him," she chirps finally. "He's totally your type."

I doubt that.

"I'm sure he's nice," I say, trying not to be rude. "I just…I don't think I'm ready to date yet. Em is so young—"

"Just one date?" she urges. "Hell, I'll look after Emmett; it'll be good practice for when this boy of mine comes along. Please?"

"Lauren—"

"Please?"

I turn away, hiding an eye roll. "Why are you so hell bent on setting me up?"

"Because you could use some adult company," she says, her frown burning a hole into the side of my head. "Because it's not a bad thing to want to spend time with someone that isn't Emmett. And because everyone needs to get laid some time."

You'd think that being around sex and skin and lust all the time would make me immune to this stuff but it doesn't—especially when it's referring to me and my sex life. I can't help the blush that creeps up my neck and into my cheeks.

Lauren huffs, sitting a ketchup bottle on the counter with so much force I'm surprised she doesn't pop the plastic bottle. "When was the last time you kissed a guy, Bella?"

Gathering up the salt shakers, I shake my head. I want to scream _two days ago_, but there's something inside of me that desperately wants to keep Edward to myself. Especially since I don't even know what he is, or where he fits into my life yet other than being the ridiculously hot guy who looks after my kid and occasionally kisses me senseless.

Much to my annoyance, Lauren follows me as I try to escape, waddling half a foot behind me as I deposit a salt shaker at each table. "You need a life outside of all of this," she says, waving a hand in the air around her as the other rests on her swollen belly. "You're all work, work, work all the time. You never go out, you certainly don't date, hell, I'm starting to think Emmett was an immaculate conception."

This time I don't hide my eye roll. "Enough, Lauren."

"I mean, it's not like you ever talk about Emmett's father. Or any other guys for that matter." She's quiet for a moment. "Oh my God, do you like girls? Are you"—she lowers her voice to a whisper—"a lesbian?"

Her eyes widen as I shoot her a withering glare.

She raises her hands in defence. "I'm just saying is all. No one knows a thing about you. You keep to yourself all the time, never let anyone in. All I'm trying to do—"

"I said enough, Lauren!" I snap, slamming the last salt shaker onto the table.

"Sorry," she whispers. "I just…everyone deserves to be happy. I'm just trying to help."

"I am happy." As wound up as Lauren has me, the truth of the statement almost makes me smile.

Stopping in her tracks, Lauren reaches for my arm, holding me in my place. "Come on now. I'm not saying that having Emmett doesn't make you happy, because I know it does." She cocks her head to one side, staring at me with her big brown eyes. "But what about you? What about Bella?"

I dig my hands deep into the front pocket of my apron, resting a hip against one of the tables. "What about Bella?"

"When was the last time you went to a bar? Or the movies?" She lifts a hand to tug the ends of my hair that dangle over my shoulder. "Or to a salon?"

Cinema. Salon. Adult time. Things of the past.

"See? It's okay to want to do things other than be a mom, Bella. Looking after yourself should be just as important as looking after Emmett," says Lauren.

"I do look after myself, Lauren. I don't need a guy to do it for me."

"I'm not talking about finding a man to look after you," she argues. "Okay, I was a little bit. At the start. What I mean is, you can't be afraid to let other people help you. If that person happens to be me, or a cute lawyer guy called Jake, then…"

Deep down I know Lauren means well, but through everything I've learned the hard way that the only person you can trust to be there, to pick up the slack and make things work, is you.

Because sometimes, even the people you love the most leave you.

I don't say that to her though, because at the heart of it she is just trying to help.

"Thank you for thinking of me, Lauren. Really. But the answer is no."

* * *

That night, Emmett is tucked up in bed and I'm two minutes away from doing the same thing when my phone chirps.

_Still up?_

I smile at the phone screen as I tap out a reply.

_Just about to go to bed._

The knock on the door is instantaneous. I toss the phone aside and swing the door open, a smile already stretched wide across my face.

But when I see him I feel the corners of my mouth drop a little, and the smile falters at the sight of a fresh round of bruises against the right side of Edward's jaw. He looks at me expectantly, smiling back like there isn't a patch of purple and blue marring his face.

Recovering quickly, I usher him inside. "Were you standing out there the whole time?"

He shrugs one shoulder. "Didn't want to wake you by knocking." He passes, touching my hand gently as he kisses me on the cheek. His eyes drop down the line of my body and then back up to meet mine. "Nice PJs."

I look down at my shorts and sweater, my bare feet against the brown linoleum floor. I'd almost be inclined to worry that I should have worn something special, something sexier, but the appreciative look on Edward's face as he eyes my bare legs is enough to make me glad I didn't.

Smiling, I close the door, making a frustrated noise when it pops open again. The wood is warped from the change in the weather and the general disrepair of the entire apartment, and I have to press my shoulder hard against it in an attempt to get the latch to click over.

"How long has that been happening?" asks Edward from behind me.

I look up from the lock, shrugging. "Maybe a day?"

"I can probably fix that for you."

"It's no problem. I just need to—" I hold my shoulder against the door, wiggling the latch, hoping it will catch.

Edward's hand rests on mine, moving it away from the lock. "It'll take me two minutes."

Indignation flares in my chest, and I take my hand away from his. "I said it's fine, Edward, really. I'm capable of closing a door on my own."

This time his hands wrap around my waist and he pulls me away from the door, moving me aside gently. The door pops open with a click, swinging ajar a little.

"Let me help," he whispers.

I open my mouth to argue, but the look on his face stops me. Stepping back, I watch as he spends a minute looking at the locking mechanism before he closes the door, lifting it a little. The sound of the latch clicking into place echoes through my apartment.

I mash my lips together as Edward turns to me, a whisper of a smile on his lips. "Thanks."

He reaches up to tug on the end of my ponytail. "You call Emmett stubborn." I cringe, feeling stupid, but he pulls me in close, hands sliding over my hips. "Stop being afraid to let me do things for you."

"Did I miss the memo about looking after myself? Was there a PSA?" I joke, rolling my eyes. "That's the second time today someone has said that to me."

Edward shrugs. "Maybe you should listen."

"Just don't try and set me up with your cousin, okay? I can't handle any more matchmaking today."

Edward's forehead wrinkles with confusion. I reach up to wrap my arms around his neck, and he practically purrs as my fingers find the short hair at the back of his head. "It's nothing. A girl at work tried to set me up on a date. Told me I needed to get out more. Look after myself."

Strong hands press harder against my lower back, holding me closer. "Oh, yeah? And what did you say?"

I don't miss the subtle hint of jealousy flavoring Edward's playful tone.

Reaching for the hands that are sliding further over my bottom, I tug him toward the sofa. "I told her that I wasn't ready to date."

"No dating, huh?" Edward says as we stop in front of the couch. "So what's this?"

My heart flutters, but I do my best to keep the coy smile on my face. The question is loaded, and one I'm not ready to answer yet. "I don't know what this is," I say truthfully.

My fingertips rest gently on his stomach as I lean forward a little, the muscles of his abdomen tensing. He blinks slowly as I lean toward his mouth, my lips a whisper away from his. "But whatever it is"—I watch his Adam's apple bob, his eyes flicking to my mouth and back—"I like it. I like you."

Retreating a little, I'm filled with a deep sense of satisfaction as Edward's eyes darken. It's a dick move, using my girly charms to change the subject, but I'm desperate not to have this conversation just yet. Plus, I can't resist the chance to watch Edward lose control a little.

We stand in silence for one heated moment, until he leans forward whispering, "Tell me Emmett is asleep."

All I have to do is smile.

He takes the hand still pressed against his chest, and, keeping it laced with mine, sits down on my sofa, gently easing me into his lap. With my knees buried in the sofa beside his hips, he leans forward to kiss me.

It's soft at first, enough to make my whole body sigh with relief, but within minutes it's insistent and hot and hands and lips and tongues.

I press my hands against the flat planes of his chest; I run them from his shoulders to his stomach, feeling the muscles beneath coil and tense as I skim my palms over his sensitive areas.

His chest vibrates with a soft moan as I slide my lips along the rough edge of his jaw, and his head drops to the back of the couch, exposing the long expanse of his neck to me. The skin of his throat is warm beneath my lips, and the thumping quickens under my tongue as I press it to the pulse point.

I'm trying my hardest to be quiet with Emmett just a room away, but it's hard when there are so many layers between us and all I want is for them to be gone. With an insane amount of willpower I never knew I had, I pull away. Edward chases my lips with his, but I turn my head a little and they find the spot beside my mouth.

"Okay?" he asks.

Swollen lips and breathless, I nod. "I just need a moment before"—I blow out a breath—"before I take advantage of you right here on my sofa."

Groaning, Edward relaxes against the back of the couch, scrubbing his hands over his face. "Probably a good idea," he whispers.

I shift back a little, putting a little space between us.

"Are you going to tell me about this?" I ask, brushing a hand gently against the bruise on his face.

He shakes his head, his eyes serious.

"Where do you go all the time?"

Again, he doesn't answer, instead closing his eyes as I brush my fingers over the skin beneath his right eye.

"Why can't you tell me?" I ask quietly, trying a different approach.

His eyes open, and the soft green I'm becoming so used to is revealed to me. He sits forward, shifting me back over his thighs and putting some space between us.

"I'm not—" He stops, the muscles at the side of his jaw ticking.

I wait patiently, hoping for an answer, knowing I won't get one.

"I wish I could give you an answer," he replies so quietly I have to lean in a little. "I wish what I did made it easier for me to talk to you about it, but it doesn't. The things I keep from you I do for a reason. I can't stand the idea of having you and Emmett anywhere near it."

We're both silent for a minute, me processing, him waiting for me to say something. I run a finger down the gray material of his T-shirt, tugging on it lightly. "Okay. Just tell me one thing. Does being with you put me in danger? Put Emmett in danger?"

"No." He reaches up to take my hand in his, and, interlacing our fingers, he pulls me close. "And no matter what happens to me, know that I would never let anything happen to you or Emmett."

There's an urgent look of sincerity in his eyes, and as a long, deep silence stretches between us I realize this guy—this beautiful, intense, dark, sweet guy—is looking at me asking me to trust him. Asking me to see more in him than he sees in himself, to trust the feelings that exist between us, whatever they are.

I lean down to kiss him lightly. "I trust you, Edward. Just…don't make me regret it, okay?"

He answers with a kiss, which is followed by another and another until we're pressed tightly against each other, barely enough room between us to take a breath. I reach down to slip my hands up and under the material of his shirt. His skin is so warm, radiant almost.

He leans forward, allowing me to slip his T-shirt over his head, and then finally, there it is.

The ink I've seen peeking out from the collars of his shirts, pressed against their underside. I've spent so long wondering what he has hidden under there that all I can do is stare.

It's a patchwork of color and shading, a beautiful maze of ink that stretches from each wrist to shoulder. His stomach is mostly bare, but then low, drawn into the dip of each of his hipbones, are two inky black pistols.

"Wow," I breathe.

He doesn't reply, but when I trace a finger over the handle of a pistol he sucks a breath through his teeth, his hips arching gently into mine. My finger moves up the line between his ribs, over the fierce looking stag, whose antlers stretch the width of his chest, their tips curved over his collarbones.

I tap his sternum gently, unable to tear my eyes from the stag. "I like this."

It takes a gentle tug on my chin to look up from his chest. I look up to find him staring at me, hooded eyes regarding me with an intensity that sends a rush of heat through me.

"I like _you_," he replies.

"Good."

The trip of his pulse flutters against my lips as I trace the intricate antlers that arch over each of his collar bones. His jaw is so tight I can see the line where the muscle meets the bone, the skin a mottled blue and purple beneath the dark scruff. He's holding back what he wants and it shows in the way his hands tighten around my thighs, and the way his eyes open, watching intently as I reach for the hem of my shirt.

Feeling bold, I lift the bottom slowly, watching him watching me.

"You don't have to," he says, his voice low and rough.

I smile a little. "I want to." The sweater slides up over my head. "I'm looking after myself."

Just as I'd done to him not minutes earlier, his eyes devour every inch of my bared skin. His gaze makes my skin prickle, and I feel like I might come undone, turn inside out right there in front of him.

"Touch me," I whisper, my voice shaky from the pounding of my heart. "Please."

His touch is feather-light, barely grazing my skin as the back of his fingers slide up my sides. I can feel my stomach clenching and the hairs on my arms standing on end. Edward's gaze is soft and reverent, but steely nonetheless, and when his hands finally splay wide on my hips I can't help but gasp as my nipples harden beneath the cups of my bra. His hand moves up my back, and he pulls me forward until my front is pressed tightly to his warm chest as he kisses me again.

We kiss like that for what feels like an hour, pressed together tightly, and within the confines of his arms my body relaxes, my walls crumbling.

My bra stays on, my hands stay confined to his chest and shoulders, and no matter how much I want them to move, Edward's hands stay above my clothing. By the time he leaves my lips are kiss-swollen and my hair is a mess. I'd be embarrassed but Edward doesn't look much different, all disheveled hair and lust-glazed eyes. I feel sixteen all over again, kissing until midnight and whispering goodbyes at the front door.

God. I'm in deep and I don't know if I have the strength to turn back now.

* * *

The sun peeks its head out from behind the constant clouds the next day, gracing us with a warm afternoon. The last days of winter are slipping away, and spring is riding on its coattails, ready to shine sunlight into the winter-grays.

"Where's your car?" asks Lauren, her head swiveling as she scans the parking lot.

I hesitate, not wanting to tell her I don't have the fuel money to get myself to and from work. "Decided to take the bus this morning," I lie.

She makes a face that says "you _wanted_ to take the bus?" I smile sheepishly in return.

"You opening tomorrow?" she asks.

Nodding, I search for my sunglasses in my bag. "You're opening with me. Breakfast shift."

Lauren snorts. "This damn baby brain, I swear I'd forget my own name if it wasn't pinned to my chest."

We push through the front door of the diner and out into the sunshine. The warm sun feels good against my skin, and I can't help but turn my face up to feel it against my cheeks.

"Hey." Lauren nudges me, not all that gently. "Do you know that guy?". I open my eyes to find her looking over my shoulder. "Oh my God," she gasps, hand fluttering at her décolletage. "He's looking right at us," she says, her gaze fixed across the parking lot.

Glancing over my shoulder, I have to shield my eyes from the sun, but there's no mistaking the silhouette. Standing beneath the late winter sun and leaning against the back end of his car is Edward.

"He's kind of scary hot," Lauren whispers. "All those tattoos…"

I lift a hand to wave, and Edward jerks his chin in my direction in greeting.

Lauren's mouth practically hits the ground. "Is…is that your ride? Do you know him?"

My cheeks flush. I shift my bag higher onto my shoulder, biting back a cheek-splitting grin. "Yeah."

She looks shocked, but also excited and maybe a little nervous. "No wonder you don't want to be set up on a date!" She slaps my arm gently. "Go, girl. I'll see you tomorrow," she says, with more than a hint of curiosity and a good dose of tell-me-everything eyebrow.

I nod, already backing away toward Edward. "See you tomorrow."

Edward doesn't say anything as I approach, my pink and green striped dress swishing around my knees. I smile at him as he swings the keys around his long fingers and pushes off the car. We buckle up in silence, but the minute the engine starts Edward reaches over to take my hand, pressing his fingers between mine before bringing the back of my hand to his lips.

"Hi."

My smile widens. "Hi, yourself."

Lauren doesn't move as Edward swings the car around and rolls past, his elbow sitting casually on the open window, his hand clasping mine gently in his lap.

* * *

Thursday night there's a knock on the door. "Don't move," I say to Emmett, pointing a finger at him. He nods, continuing to play with the bubbles.

Edward is at the front door, a black duffle bag at his feet, his black knit cap pulled low over his forehead.

"Hey."

"I can't stay," he says as a greeting, instantly reaching forward to bring me close. "I'm heading out now." I press up on my toes to kiss him, still amazed I can do it whenever I like. "I'll be back tomorrow night. Late."

I sigh. "Okay."

"I'll let you know when I'm around."

"Okay."

A splash from the bathroom pulls both of our focus, and he smiles. "Bye."

He kisses me again.

"Bye."

I watch him walk down the hallway, disgusted that I find even his walk attractive. He turns as he takes the first stair, smiling at me over his shoulder before he disappears. His heavy footsteps disappear down the stairs, and I close my front door, lifting it slightly until it clicks into place. Smiling, I press my forehead to the wood door.

How am I going to survive this?

* * *

**Major apologies for the late post. **

**Thank you always and forever to all the girls on FB for their support. Rochelle, Alanna, Donna, my wonderful beta Rach, my amazing pre readers Rach and Kitty. Big big love. **

**On a side note: the wonderful Thimbles is writing a brilliant new story called 'The Monster'. It touches on some delicate content, but as always Shel does it with the compassion and love that it deserves. Plus, it's another Aussie fic, and ya'll know how much I love Aussie fics. Shell is listed in my favourite authors, so do me a favour and check The Monster out if you haven't already. **

**Wink out x**


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

* * *

"Do I has to sleep over?"

"Yeah, baby. It'll be fun, just like before."

I toss Emmett's nightlight into his backpack.

"But why?"

"'Cause Momma has to work."

"But where's Edward?"

_Story of my life._

"He's away, remember?"

Emmett sighs. "Why?"

"Because he is. But you'll see him on your birthday."

"When's my birthday again?"

"Sunday. Two more sleeps."

"Why can't it be my birthday now?"

Trying to think of a logical yet simple answer to this question, while also trying to wrestle a four-year-old into his pajamas, proves to be a difficulty. "Because you were born on the fifteenth, not the thirteenth."

"Why?"

I sigh, letting all of the air out of my lungs in an attempt to not get angry. This "why" thing is new and becoming a real problem. "Because that was the day the stork decided to bring you. Now, did you find your slippers like I asked?"

Lolling his head around on his shoulders, Emmett turns to trudge into his bedroom, dragging his feet.

Half an hour later, I'm standing at Neda's door, listening to her yell at Amun to turn the TV down as the door swings open.

"Ah," she coos, wrapping her weathered hands over my cheeks. "Beautiful Bella." The warmth of her touch and smile and the smell of her home cooking are comforting, making me realize how much I miss her and Amun.

"And you, handsome Mr. Emmett." He giggles as she kisses his face loudly. "Amun!" she yells over he shoulder, followed by something in Farsi, which he responds to in kind.

Neda makes a noise at the back of her throat, waving her hand in the direction of her husband. "Come," she urges. "I make you tea, and you eat something before you go."

Plopping Emmett's bag at my feet, I shake my head. "Thank you, but I really have to go. I'm so sorry."

"No, no, no. Here…" Neda hustles into the kitchen as fast as she can, returning a moment later with something wrapped in foil. "Take." Shoving the food at me with one hand, she wraps a bony hand around my arm with the other. "You too thin!" she says, shaking with surprising force. "Must eat more."

The foil is warm, and I can smell whatever's inside as it warms my palm. It's something meat-filled and spicy, and it makes my stomach growl with hunger. I smile, suppressing the urge to rip through the foil and gobble it up on the spot. Instead, I lean forward to press a kiss to her paper-thin cheek. "Thank you."

I bend down to hug Emmett, squeezing his small body against mine. "Night, baby. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

He nods, looking a little sad. The face tears a little hole in my heart.

"Be good for Neda?" He nods. "I love you."

"Love you," he says back.

Standing, I pull my car keys from my pocket. "I'll come by tomorrow and take him for the day. You're sure you don't mind taking him both nights?"

"Of course not," says Neda. "But you be here for birthday."

Guilt rips through me but I put a lid on it, shoving it down deep with the rest of the things I can't deal with high now. "I will. I'll pick him up early on Sunday." I straighten my shoulders. "I have the night off but I can't take both nights off."

I can see the disapproval in Neda's face, and for a moment all I can think is that I'm glad I don't have family around. No one can give a guilt-trip better than family.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I say, lifting the foil-wrapped food in hand, waving it at her. "Thank you for this."

I blow Emmett a kiss, and he giggles. "Night, baby."

"Night, Momma."

* * *

A small figure cuts a dark silhouette against the side of the building, a cherry-red light dimming and brightening in the shadow. Alice sits with her back pressed against exposed brick wall of Blush, her knees at her chest and a cigarette in her mouth.

"Hey, girl," she drawls. Her voice is raspy, used, a far cry from her usually honey-sweet tone.

I hold open the door for her in the dark, watching as she the tosses the cigarette butt aside. "Coming in?"

The light in the hallway is dim, but even in the low light the sight of Alice as she walks ahead of me makes my heart skip. Her skin is pale, almost translucent, and her legs are so thin they look like they'd snap in a strong breeze. As she steps into the light of the dressing room, I get the full brunt of her fall from grace in the chest: the dark circles under her eyes, the hollows beneath her collar bones, and the red, irritated skin beneath her nose. She talks incessantly as we head toward the dressing room but I barely hear anything she says. Staring at her gaunt frame, I can't help but wonder when this happened. Haven't I been here? When was the last time I really looked at Alice? When was the last time I spoke to her?

Alice wobbles a little as she searches her dressing table for something to cover the cracked skin at the corners of her mouth, humming the out of tune chorus from a top forty song as she leans in close to the mirror. "You can't spot me a fifty or something, can you, B?". Her tongue slides slowly over the front of her teeth. "I'm just short a little." She wipes a finger under her nose and sniffs loudly before turning to look at me. "Yo, Bella. Earth to Bella."

Blinking, I snap out of my staring. "No. Sorry."

Alice shrugs and continues to pat at her skin with concealer. She looks older, her skin sallow beneath the warm lighting.

How long have I been caught up in my own little world?

Still thinking about her, I change out of my clothes on auto-pilot and slide pair of stretchy shorts up over my bottom. I can hear her snorting something as soon as I leave the room. Line after line of it.

As I look around the change room, I'm startled to see more than one new face. It's like a fog has been lifted. Like I'm seeing things with new eyes all of a sudden.

"Has anyone heard anything about Leah?" I ask, searching for a familiar face.

The girls around me are silent, as if I barely exist.

Alice looks at me in the reflection of her mirror, and for a split second I see fear flash in her eyes, but it's wiped away a moment later, replaced with the glassy, glazed-over expression of indifference. "Uh-uh."

That's almost a month. No contact from Leah, no word of where she is, and since the night in the parking lot, nothing from Sam either. That niggling voice in the back of my head turns into a scream. Something isn't right, and I've been too mixed up with my own shit to see what's going on around me.

"Ali," I whisper, closing in behind her. "Are you okay? Are you looking after yourself?"

"Oh yeah," she draws the word out, her lids closing slowly as she licks her lips. "I'm fine. So fine. Everything is great."

I reach down and grab the tumbler from her hand, sniffing its contents. "How fucked up are you?" She laughs, reaching for the glass, but I shove her hand her away. She stumbles backward, plopping down into the seat at her table. When she moves to stand again, I press a hand to her shoulder, pushing her back down. Worry is quickly replaced with anger, the blackness of it simmering beneath my skin.

"Sit down before you fall down."

She looks up at me with red-rimmed distant eyes, and I get the distinct feeling that if she weren't so high she'd knock me flat on my ass. As it is, she can barely keep her eyes open.

With the glass still in my hand, I knock loudly on Marcus' door. Tania answers, her bright red dress stretched tight across her breasts, the sheer panel in the front exposing too much.

"Have you seen Alice?" I snap, trying to look anywhere but at her nipples.

"Not lately," she says.

"The girl's beyond wasted. She can't go out there like that."

Tania sighs, looking more annoyed than worried. "I'll deal with it." She looks me up and down once, assessing. "Marcus wants to see you."

I stand in the doorway as she eases past, taking with her the smell of sweet perfume and hairspray. The whiskey in the glass sloshes against the ice as I look down.

"Today, Bella," calls Marcus from somewhere inside.

The whiskey is still burning its way down my throat as I close the office door.

"Nice to see you haven't dropped off the face of the earth," says Marcus.

"I could say the same for you," I snap.

The tendons at the side of Marcus' jaw tighten as he sits back, undoing the button in his jacket. "Given any thought to our last conversation?"

"No."

His brows lift a little, but his face remains neutral. "Pity. There's money to be made."

I blow out a long breath, readying myself to explain, yet again, that what's between my legs can't be bought.

"Leah quit."

My words evaporate into thin air. "What? When?"

"A few weeks ago, it's nothing you need to worry about."

"But she didn't… she didn't say goodbye to anyone. Or to me."

Marcus shrugs, looking indifferent. "So write me a sob story. It means we're down a girl, so I'll need you on stage twice tonight, and in the private rooms as much as possible. Also, I need you next Thursday night for a private function."

My brow jerks upward. "I don't work Thursdays."

"You do when we're missing staff," says Marcus with a grin. "It's only a few hours. I'll pay you an extra hundred, plus fifty percent of the tips."

The part of my brain that knows exactly how much is in my bank account is screaming _Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!_ But the hesitant side of my brain knows that when it comes to Marcus, if it's too good to be true, it usually is.

"What will I be doing for an extra hundred dollars?"

He shrugs again. "Just be your usual charming self, Bella. Take your clothes off and smile; that's all there is."

I cross my arms over my chest. "Why don't I believe you?"

The desk chair squeaks as Marcus sits forward, tossing his pen atop his desk. "You know what?" He sighs. "I'm getting real tired of your attitude," he says. "You're forgetting who I am." Leaning into his chair, he crosses his hands over his stomach. "I'm not your friend, Bella. And I'm not that fat fuck who runs that shitty diner you work at either. I'm your boss, and the owner of this club. While you work for me, I own your ass."

"Own me?" I snort. "Please."

He's in front of me in a second, his dark eyes boring into mine. "You know very well that until such time as I say so, you will do what I say, when I say it."

Even though I try to hide my fear, my voice trembles. "Or what?"

The smile that lights his features is truly predatory, the kind of look that screams of violence and malice. It sends a rush of goose bumps up my spine. He steps in so close I can feel his breath against my cheek, and a hand tightens around my upper arm, his fingers clenched so tight I have to hold back a whimper.

"_Run",_ my brain says._ "Run. Run. Run."_

"Maybe I'll stop being so nice." He grips me tighter, pulling me harder toward him. "You'd be wise to think a little further about my offer, Bella. It won't stand forever," he says, breath hot against my skin. "And you're beginning to outlive your usefulness."

I swallow, the sound of it loud in my ears.

"You're standing on the cusp of the potential to make a lot of money," he continues. "You think it's nice having these sad fucks watch you dance on stage? That's nothing. Imagine what it's like to have them throwing money at that sweet little pussy of yours." His finger runs over the apple of my cheek, and it's all I can do not to shudder. "They'll beg for it, Bella. They'll line up out that fucking door, and they'll drop at your feet just for a taste."

"You're hurting me," I whisper, wincing as his fingers pinch the skin of my upper arm.

"So think about it again. I'll see you Thursday night."

With my arm still in hand, Marcus frog-marches me to the door, and, without a second glance, shoves me into the hall, closing the door behind him. Left staring at the wood grain of his door, I'm not sure if I'm going to vomit or cry or kick down his door. I can feel my heart thundering against my ribcage, and the blood whooshing in my ears is so loud I barely hear the bathroom door swing closed nearby.

"You okay?" asks Mike, his large hand resting heavy on my bare shoulder.

Shrugging off the weight of his hand, I stand straight, the dark wig that covers my hair brushing against the middle of my back. Clenching my fists, I do my best to stop the shaking in my hands. "I'm fine."

Mike looks between me and Marcus' office door. "Sure?"

I look up at his concerned face and for a moment think about crawling into his broad chest and hiding. I want so badly to let it out, to let someone comfort me, even if just for a moment. Instead I swallow the urge, straighten my spine, and nod.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

I'm so not fine. My insides shake, my calm exterior hiding the fear that ripples beneath my skin.

I have to get out of here. That much is clear.

* * *

The strain of my conversation with Marcus and the knowledge that my apartment is empty weighs on my shoulders as I take the stairs. My bag seems heavier than normal, its weight pressing into my shoulder, and my feet are aching like crazy. The light on the first floor landing flickers, buzzing as the starter tries in vain to click over. The stairs creak underfoot until finally, after what feels like eighty flights instead of two, I make it to my floor. Instinctively, I glance to the right, hoping to see a light under Edward's door—but it's dark. I head left, toward my apartment, fishing my keys from the front pocket of my bag.

Looking up, my muscles freeze and I stop dead a few feet from my apartment door.

The wood around the deadbolt is splintered and cracked, the door sitting open a little. My fingers tighten around my keys and even though every cell in my body is screaming to run, I step forward, pushing the door until it swings open. Muscles tensed and ready to move, I listen for sounds of movement, for a sign that someone is still in the apartment. It's silent and the room is empty, the only light coming from the TV that sits on its side on the floor, the screen flickering.

Every drawer is open, everything inside of them strewn across the floor. My heart falls into my stomach as I notice that the DVD player is missing—probably the only thing of real value in the entire apartment. My feet crunch on a broken light bulb as I step further into the room. In shock, I pick up a kitchen chair that's lying on its back, trying to assess if there's anything else missing. Strangely, even though the place is a mess, I know that there's nothing of value missing. I know because I don't own anything of value. The only thing of real worth is downstairs fast asleep.

Emmett's room has fared a little better; his mattress has been upturned, but other than that it's no messier than it was when I left. My bedroom is a disaster though, and I groan out loud as I find my underwear drawer upended and ransacked, my underwear strewn about the room. I don't even want to know if there any are missing.

"Gross."

The bathroom drawers have been pulled out and emptied all over the floor, and there's a sticky puddle of cough syrup spilled in the middle of the bench top, the liquid dripping down the cabinet and into a pool on the floor. My makeup is smashed all over the place, brown and pink powder staining the linoleum and the bottoms of my feet as I tiptoe around it.

My work bag slips off of my shoulder as I take in the apartment, trying to decide if I'm angry or scared or just upset. I guess it could have been worse; Emmett and I could have been home, they could have taken everything, they could have been here waiting for me to get home. My first instinct is that it's the work of opportunists looking for money or pills, anything worth selling. But something niggling at the back of my mind tells me otherwise.

Who breaks into an apartment in _this_ apartment block of all places and then doesn't take a thing other than a used DVD player?

A cold draft rushes in the open front door, and, sighing, I figure I'd better find something to keep it closed since the lock is completely busted. After cleaning up a little, it's nearing five a.m. as I trudge back into the hallway to look for something to keep the door closed. It's not until then that I spot the small linen cupboard sitting open. My stomach rolls as I reach for the where Emmett's birthday presents were stored. Suddenly shaking, I pull out the folded towels and sheets that I had everything hidden behind, and it's like the bottom drops out of my world.

They're gone—the sneakers, the board game, the clothes, everything.

I press a hand to my mouth, feeling tears well in my eyes. My fist balls at my side as I swallow down angry tears.

This is my fault.

It's a message. An unspoken reminder that I belong to Marcus, that no matter how much I think I can walk away, he _does_ own me. Because this is just a taste of what I know he's capable of. This is nothing. Trivial. This is just a warning.

He knows where to hit to make it hurt. What to take from me that will mean the most.

I don't realize that I've dialled his number until he answers.

"Bella?"

The sound of his voice breaks something deep inside of me, something that pushes through the anger and the guilt, and hot tears begin to roll down my cheeks.

"Hello?"

"Someone broke in," I gasp around tears.

"What—fuck off, Jasper—are you okay?"

"I'm fine, they just messed the place up, broke a few things, but they took"—my voice wobbles, betraying the silent tears—"they took all of his presents, Edward. They took the Tonka truck, the clothes, everything. It's his birthday tomorrow and—"

"Shh, Bella. Please don't cry." His voice cracks just a little. "Please."

"I just—I don't know what to do."

Edward lets loose a long breath. "Can you lock the door?"

"No, the wood around the door is broken, the lock is broken." I wipe at my cheeks furiously. "I can probably jam something under the door."

"No. Fuck. That won't be enough."

He's silent for a moment, and I have to blink away the tears as they come faster, dripping over my chin and onto my neck where I feel them disappear into the neckline of my shirt.

"In the drawer beside the front door there's a key," says Edward quietly.

I look over at my tiny hallstand, the drawer hanging open, its contents spilled on the floor. "In my drawer?"

He's silent for a beat. "It's for my place."

"There's a key here for your place?"

"Yeah. The silver one. I kept forgetting mine."

I bend down, skimming the drawer contents with my fingers. The key is brand new, silver and shiny. "I found it."

"Go to my place. I want you to lock the door and don't open it for anyone."

"But—"

"If you don't do it, Bella, I swear to God I'll drive back there right now and put you in there myself." The tone in his voice tells me he's serious, and for a moment I wonder whether having him here would help. If having someone to lean on is what I need. "No, don't. Don't come here." I don't need to drag another person into my messed up life. "Are you sure it's okay?"

"It's fine. Just…"

He sighs, and I can just imagine his hands tightening in his hair, that little crease forming between his brows.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just stay on the line until you're inside."

He waits patiently while I dig around for something to wear to bed and my toothbrush. It feels odd, leaving my apartment wide open. But really, what's the worst that could happen at five o'clock in the morning with an apartment that's already been turned over?

Edward's apartment is almost bare, and, if at all possible, smaller than mine. A tiny kitchenette opens up into a single living room with one bedroom and bathroom off to the back. There's a table and chairs, a TV, and a bed on the floor beneath the window. That's it.

"I'm inside," I whisper, feeling strange standing in his apartment for the first time while he's so far away.

"Lock the door." He waits while I turn the lock and slide the latch into place. "I'll be home late tonight," he says quietly. "Just stay at mine as long as you want, okay?"

"Thank you."

He's silent again for a moment. "Bella?"

"Yeah?"

He sighs again, a long breath full of unspoken words. "I'll see you soon."

"Okay."

His bedroom is simple, bare walls save for a few sketches pinned to one wall and a mattress with white sheets that look clean but unmade. Weary to my bones, drained of energy, I drop onto the mattress, surprised to find it soft and comfortable. With shaking hands I unlock my phone and dial one more time.

The phone rings once before switching to voicemail.

"Marcus, it's Bella," I whisper, trying not to let the shakiness in my voice show. "Just tell me where to be on Thursday night and I'll be there."

Hanging up, I drop the phone to the floor and peel off my sweater. It joins my phone on the floor beside me, but just as I'm about change into my pajamas I spot a grey T-shirt pooled at the base of the bed. I debate about it for all of a second before picking it up and pulling it on instead. The cotton is worn and soft, and the sheets are clean, both saturated with Edward's smell. Tucking them up around my chin and burying my face into them, I'm flooded with his smell, that familiar, comforting scent that clings to him.

I close my eyes, the picture of my apartment burned into the backs of my eyelids. As exhausted as I am, no matter how hard I try sleep won't come.

* * *

**Thank you Rach, Rach and Kitty. **

**To everyone. **

**x Wink**


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

My eyes are puffy and swollen, sore from a night of tears, and a crying headache screams painfully across the front of my head and in my temples. Coupled with a restless sleep, it takes me a moment of disoriented blinking to remember where I am. Warm sheets that smell like Edward tell me I'm in his bed, and the pain in my head reminds me why.

I reach across the mattress for my phone, reading a message that appeared sometime after I finally fell asleep. It's an address for a penthouse in the city. I'm to be there Thursday at nine.

The throbbing in my head worsens for a moment as I think about what it means.

A million excuses run through my mind. Anything I can think of to tell Marcus that I've changed my mind.

I'm sick.

Emmett is sick.

A death in the family.

But no matter what I come up with, the end result is the same. He knows where I live, where I work when I'm not at Blush, about Emmett, and who knows what else. I have no idea how much he knows about my life and the millions of ways he can destroy it. Leah's disappearance and the bruises forming on my upper arm are just a taste of what he could do to me. A break-in is just the beginning.

I clench my jaw in an attempt to keep the tears at bay.

Tossing the phone aside, I look around, taking in the minimal details of Edward's bedroom: the mattress on the floor, the dresser pressed against the far wall, its paint chipped and worn away in places. I imagine him lying where I am, his long legs tucked beneath the same sheets mine are, his head resting on the same pillow.

The top of his dresser is littered with gum wrappers and change, receipts and random other things that live in the pockets of jeans or jackets. A silver chain hangs from the corner of the mirror, thick and heavy, with a simple cross hanging from it. I rub a finger across its smooth surface before letting it drop back against the mirror. My hand lingers at the handle of the drawer beneath, but instead I press my lips together, suppressing the urge to delve a little deeper into the Edward mystery.

Barefoot, I steal away into his bathroom where I find more little pieces of the puzzle. Hair clippers, soap, mouthwash, aftershave, the latter of which I open to sniff, immediately feeling like a creep but still enjoying the smell of him intensified.

After I wash my face and rinse out my mouth, I slide my jeans back on and make the bed. As hard as it is to leave and face the day, I need to pick up Emmett from the Eizadis' before they send out a search party.

Edward's tiny apartment is bathed in morning light, and in the bright light of day I'm startled at how small it is, how bare.

I pick up a clean glass from beside the sink. The kitchen tap whines and creaks, the pipes banging loudly as cold water splutters into a glass. I can't help but smile. At least I know the whole building has to deal with the same shitty water service that I do.

Standing at the sink, I let the sun warm my skin as I find the number for a local locksmith.

"We can have someone there today between twelve and four if you're home," says the guy on the phone.

I nod, swallowing a mouthful of water. "Any idea how much it's going to cost me?"

"Ah—hard to tell," he replies. "Depends on the lock and if you need to replace the door. Your insurance should cover it mostly."

My neck flushes with embarrassment, which I try to swallow through. "I don't have insurance."

The end of the line is quiet for a moment. I stare out the window above the kitchen sink. It faces the park across the street, affording a perfect view of the treetops. Much nicer than my view of the parking lot.

"No insurance, huh?"

"No."

He sniffs, and I can only imagine the dollar signs flashing in front of his eyes. "Could be pricey. Couple hundred at least."

Dumping what's left of the water into the sink, I sigh. "Do you offer credit accounts?"

He snorts. "Sorry, doll. We gotta pay our bills. So can I book in a time today, or what?"

"Yeah. Give me one second."

Searching the hall table beside the door for something to write on, I gently shift aside some envelopes and bills. An opened, empty, envelope sticks out, and I grab it.

"Let me find a pen…"

The drawer beneath the table sticks a little as I pull it, searching for a pen. Shouldering my phone, I brace my hand against the tabletop and tug the drawer open. It comes unstuck with a rattle as I finally yank it free, but as I look down, my hand, my heart, my breath, they all come to a screeching halt.

The dark glint of gunmetal shines up at me, the hilt of a pistol staring at me as a handful of gold bullets roll to a stop at the front of the drawer.

"Holy shit."

Unable to resist, I reach out at touch the gun, instantly recoiling at the feel of the cold metal pressed against my fingers. I feel my skin tighten around my bones and my stomach flip.

"Miss Swan?"

I blink hard, shoving the drawer shut with a bang.

"Yeah, I'm here."

* * *

Half an hour later, still in a daze, I knock on Neda and Amun's front door. It's not until I hear the sound of Emmett's voice that I come back to reality.

"It's Momma!" he yells from the other side of the door.

The chain rattles and the locks click over as Amun opens the door. He smiles warmly at me as Emmett pushes past at his feet.

I hadn't realized how badly I'd needed to see him until there he was, the light inside of me that's all for him bursting to life. I bend over to kiss the back of his head as he wraps his arms tightly around my legs. His hair smells like Johnson &amp; Johnson baby shampoo, and the smell is such a comfort after the night I've had that it makes my throat constrict and tears appear in my eyes.

He looks up at me, bright blue eyes shining. "I did a drawing, and we colored in, and then I helped Nena cook!"

Laughing, I wipe the unshed tears from my eyes. "You did? Good job!"

I reach out for a high-five, which he returns with a proud grin.

"Come," says Amun quietly, ushering me inside with a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Is my birthday now?" Emmett asks, crawling up into my lap as I take a seat in the kitchen.

"Soon," I say, patting his back. "Soon."

I watch as Neda dumps another full spoon of sugar into the short cup of inky-black Turkish coffee, clinking the spoon against the rim twice before passing it over to me, accompanied by a look of worry etched into her weathered features.

"Have you called Police?" she asks after I—very quietly—tell her about the night before.

Sipping the rich, sugary coffee, I shake my head. "Not yet."

The drink is hot and almost syrupy it's so strong, but the caffeine is welcomed into my veins like a sigh, and almost immediately the shaking in my hands stops. Seeing my broken front door in the light of day—the wood splintered and cracked, the lock hanging useless in the door—coupled with the discovery in Edward's apartment, has left my brain feeling like it's been thrown against the side of my skull.

"I don't think there's anything they can do," I say.

It's a lie.

I'm sure the Police would do their best: fingerprints, photos, statements, but there are no cameras in the building, and even if there were, I'm not stupid enough to lead the police back to Marcus, and he knows that.

In the end, his message was clear.

But now, more than ever, I know I have to get out. Away. Far away. How i'll do it don't know, especially now that... well, now that there's also a reason to stay.

For the moment I just need to keep myself and Emmett safe, and doing that means doing whatever Marcus asks of me.

"Can we go home to watch the tartoons?" asks Emmett, his weight solid and real in my lap. It's amazing how in the space of just a few minutes he can center me so completely.

"I thought we'd go to the park for a while instead. How does that sound?"

He shrugs. "Fun, I guess."

"You mean you're not too old for the park?"

He giggles when I press my fingers into his ribs softly. "No, silly. It's not my birthday 'til yesterday."

I laugh. "You mean tomorrow."

"Yeah, that one."

He smiles, all baby-toothed and pink cheeks. He makes what happened the night before seem a million miles away. Even so, I don't want him to see the apartment until the door is fixed. Something about it feels like two worlds colliding, and my brain simply refuses to let that happen.

We leave Neda and Amun in favor of a few hours in the park, and as we walk I try to muster up the courage to talk to Emmett about his birthday presents. There is enough money in my bank account to buy one, maybe two, of the smaller presents before work tonight, but there is so much I'd had hidden away that I just don't have the money to replace.

"Swing with me!" he yells, running toward the swing set.

Holding him in my lap, I push off the ground gently, letting the two of us swing slowly.

"Hey, Emmett, you know it's your birthday tomorrow—"

"One sleep! Higher, Momma!"

"Uh huh, one sleep. And you know Momma works really hard so that she can buy you presents, right?"

"Presents like the dinosaurs and _Iron Man_ movie."

I nod, pushing my feet against the dirt beneath the swings. "Yeah, just like that. Well"—I pause, searching for the right words—"you know sometimes we can't get you all the presents you want."

"Why?"

"Well, because the presents cost a lot of money. And because Momma doesn't have lots and lots of money. But you get to have a birthday party at McDonalds and eat birthday cake."

"Blue cuptakes?"

"Blue _and_ red."

Emmett giggles loudly as we swing a little higher.

"I'm going to eated five of them!"

And just like that the conversation is done, and I kick myself for being worried to begin with.

Just as Emmett is rounding his fifth turn down the slide, Edward calls. I contemplate letting it go to voicemail. I'm still not sure how I feel about the gun thing, and to be honest, I can't trust myself not to outright ask him about it. But, like my hand and brain aren't at all connected, I swipe the screen and answer his call anyway.

He's his usual quiet self, but even so, beneath the few words we share there's something in his voice that tugs at the space in my chest that's reserved for him.

"You're okay?" he asks, sounding about as tired as I feel.

I rest my back against a tree, watching Emmett run around in front of me. "Yeah, I'm okay. You?"

"Fine. Your apartment?"

"The door's being fixed and it's tidy. I just have to figure out what to do about Em's presents."

_Oh, and I found a gun in your apartment. What's that about? _The words stick in my throat. I don't know what I'm more scared of: him finding out I snooped, or the answer to the question.

"You know he'd be happy with bubble wrap, right?" says Edward, and I can hear his smile through the phone. It makes me smile, too.

"I know. I want him to have more, though."

"I know you do. But he's got you, so he's already a lucky kid."

Thoughts zip around my head, back and forth. A small part of me feels like I should confront him, that I should be worried about dating a guy who keeps a gun just inside his front door. But as hard as I try to hold on to that feeling of righteousness, I just can't seem to. Edward has never given me any reason to fear him. In fact, it's the opposite. Being around him, having him close, makes me feel safe in a way I haven't in years. Not once has he made me question the decision to leave him alone with Emmett, and not once have I ever felt as if he could be the kind of guy who would put me or my son in danger.

There's a side to his life that I don't know anything about, and while there is a part of me that wants so desperately to know more, there's a bigger part of me that knows too well how easy it is to hide things. Whatever it is that brings him back to me with cuts and bruises and a distant look in his eyes is, for now, his business. Because not once have I felt threatened by that side of him. Not once has he given me reason to worry about my own safety around him.

"I wish I could come home."

His words make my heart clench hard. The thought that he considers being here with us his home is indescribable. It's that notion—the idea that I could be his home, and he part of mine—that makes me realize I could very well love this man. Not only can I see myself falling in love with him, I can feel it.

"I wish you were here, too. So much."

"Soon," he says quietly. "I'll fix this, okay? I promise."

"Edward—"

"Just let me. Let me help you."

My teeth worry my bottom lip as I imagine letting my head fall into the space between Edward's neck and shoulder, letting him wrap his strong arms around me as I breathe in the comforting smell of his skin. "Okay."

We're silent for a moment, but I can hear him on the line, feel his presence even though he's so far away.

"I can call someone to take a look at the door if you want."

"No, it's fine. This guy will be here in a few hours—no, Emmett, I said no—it's really not a problem."

I watch as Emmett bends to pick up something, a rock or something else equally as fascinating, and with a little wobble falls sideways into a puddle. Shocked, he looks up, searching for me with his bottom lip quivering.

"Shit. Hang on, Edward."

Emmett begins to wail, his cheeks pink and damp. I look him over quickly, checking for scrapes or cuts, finding only a dripping wet bottom.

"Is Emmett okay?"

"Yeah, he's fine. He fell over and got a bit wet." I hold Emmett close, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his back. "You're just wet, baby. It's okay. You're okay."

Dripping with dirty water, Emmett clings to me, sobbing louder now.

"Hey, hey." I try to calm him, hushing him quietly. "You wanna talk to Edward?" I ask, ducking my head to look at him.

He nods, and teary-eyed and forlorn, he presses the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

I watch as he listens to whatever it is Edward's saying, his bottom lip poking out. "I falled over…uh huh…uh uh…" He sniffles. "Will you have birthday cake too?"

He continues to talk to Edward for a few more minutes, his tears drying on his cheeks, and a moment later hands me back the phone. "He wants you."

I kiss his cheeks gently and stand, taking his hand in mine. "Hello?"

"Hey, I have to go," he says, sounding distracted. "But I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

There's a beat of silence, and I can feel something rising in my chest, a rush of emotion I don't know that I have a handle on yet. Maybe there isn't a future here, no hope of anything more, and call me stupid or selfish but all I want is for one moment to feel like I belong to someone, to be wanted and cherished and cared for.

"Edward?" I blurt out.

"Yeah?"

"I miss you."

He sighs. "I know. I miss you, too."

And with that, he hangs up without another word, and even though they only spoke for a few minutes, Emmett seems calmer than he did before. Whatever Edward said, I'm forever grateful for it.

We arrive back at the apartment building just as the locksmith arrives to fix the door. Amun takes Emmett to get him changed into something dry while I show the repairman upstairs.

It takes the guy all of twenty minutes to fix the door—and true to form costs me almost two hundred dollars. For now though, the door locks and stays shut, and after spending a night with my apartment unlocked and wide open, it's enough.

Emmett and I potter around for the afternoon. I bake cupcakes for his birthday, and we ice them together. Of course Emmett covers himself with blue and red frosting, and I spend half an hour bathing him to remove it. He's upset at being shuffled off to Neda's again at night, but easily placated with talk of his birthday and with one of his birthday cupcakes.

"If you go to sleep like a good boy," I say as he hugs me goodbye, "you'll wake up and it will be your birthday."

"One sleep?"

I hold up a finger. "Just one more."

* * *

I stand outside of Blush for almost fifteen minutes working up the courage to go inside. After what happened last night it feels like I'm looking at it with new eyes, and the neon pink and glitter does nothing to hide the violence hidden inside.

In the end it's Tia who finds me.

"What you doing out here, girl?" she asks, laughing as I press a hand to my chest in fright.

"Oh—uh, nothing. Just thinking."

Raking her hands over her head, she flips her blonde hair over to one side. "Jesus," she says with a shake of her head. "If working here has taught me anything, it's that sometimes you gotta switch off the thinking part of your brain and just go with it."

"I don't know if I can switch off anymore," I say truthfully.

What I want to say is _I'm scared. I'm drowning. Help me. Save me._

I want to tell her that she should be scared too. That she should take her boy and her paycheck and run as far away from this place as she can.

But I can't.

Because I can see from the look in her eyes that Tia already knows too well why I'm too scared to leave. Like me she does what she has to to make ends meet, the good, the bad, and the ugly, all the while hoping like hell it doesn't all come crashing down around her.

So instead, I take her hand, giving it a squeeze.

"Come on," I say, linking her arm in mine. "Let's get this over with."

* * *

It's late—almost one in the morning—and the club is heaving. I've just sat down for two minutes and slipped my shoes off when Petey pokes his head through the backstage curtain.

"There's someone here for you, Bella."

"There's no one else available?" I ask, rubbing my foot gingerly.

He shrugs. "Asked for you."

Sighing, I slip my shoe back on. "Okay. Gimme a second."

At my locker, I check my phone, dismayed to see a blank screen. Not so much as a call or message. I touch up my makeup quickly and make myself presentable before Petey walks me out through the club to the private area. Tonight, red hair skims my collarbones, the crimson color making my skin look like alabaster in the lighting. Soft midnight blue material swishes around my thighs, the gauzy hemline skimming my bottom. Sore feet aside, with a room full of eyes on me I feel like a shooting star blazing brightly across the sky.

"In six," Petey says, jerking his head toward the curtained room.

One of the new girls struts past, lean thighs and round butt swinging with confidence. "Lucky, bitch," she whispers with a grin.

Pushing the heavy curtain aside, I step into the room.

There's a beer bottle dangling between his long fingers, and as I enter he looks up. His eyes are glassy, tired, but his gaze is just as steady as it always is, and for the first time since I started this job I feel vulnerable. Exposed. Like he's staring right through Rose and at me.

"What are you doing here, Edward?"

* * *

**Ru-Roh.**

**To all of the lovely people who leave me their lovely words - thank you. I understand that some of Bella's choices are not what might be considered safe or smart, but then sometimes we don't have the chance to see bad decisions until we've made them. Hindsight and all that. Plus, we all make bad decisions sometimes. Stick with her, she'll get there. **

**To my sweet team, Rach, who beta'd for me this week through pain and what should have been a time of healing and rest. Huge love.**

**Love to Rach, who not only loves a good ranty email, but who listens to me vent and doesn't tell me to shut up. **

**And to Kitty, whom I love dearly, and who I know that even now, an entire year after i began writing this, still has faith. **

**Next update soon, I hope. xx**


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

* * *

"_What are you doing here?" _

Edward lifts his gaze to meet mine, his familiar green eyes a strange sight in this place full of strange sights. "I couldn't wait until tomorrow," he says.

I adjust the top of my dress, covering up as much as I can even though there's little left to cover. I'm not sure yet how I feel about him seeing me like this. It's like the two worlds I've tried so hard to keep apart colliding right before my eyes.

"When did you get in?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

Looking away, Edward shrugs. "Few hours ago."

We're quiet for a beat, the pulse of the music thumping around us. Edward cracks his knuckles, his gaze fixed on the ground at my feet like he's too scared to look right at me. Seeing him like this makes me want to blurt out everything that's happened in the past two days. I can feel it all sitting there waiting to come out, pressing on my chest like a weight.

He's dressed in jeans and a black tee, the neckline so soft and stretched that the antlers of the stag on his collarbones peek out of the top. The piece that covers his exposed throat shifts as he swallows, and the urge to press my lips to it is almost overwhelming. It's then that I realize that finally, after days of wishing him closer—he's here, sitting right in front of me, looking at me like I'm the sun after a day's rain.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Edward sighs, looking tired to the bone.

Stepping toward him, I look around furtively, knowing that Marcus has no idea who Edward is, but feeling uneasy nonetheless. This close my whole body feels like it's reaching for him, for the comfort of his arms. "You shouldn't be here. Marcus—"

"Doesn't know shit."

Glancing at the bottle that dangles from his long fingers, I wonder how much he's had to drink. It's not like Edward to swear in front of me. Not that I mind; I'm not offended by it—just the opposite in fact. He's a mess of lazy, slow gazes, and I think maybe I like him like this: open, soft, pliable.

"You're right. Maybe I shouldn't be here," he says, sitting straighter in his chair. He scrubs a hand over his eyes, pinching them roughly. "I'm kinda drunk."

He shifts like he's about to stand, and even before I know what I'm doing my hand is pressed firmly against his shoulder.

"Sit."

Green eyes look up at me from beneath dark brows, and I watch as that glazed look of his mixes with curiosity and maybe even a little lust.

"You know…"

I can feel is his eyes on me as I reach for his beer bottle. He passes it to me, watching as I take a mouthful. I don't want a drink, but I have to do something with my hands before I use them to pull him in for a kiss.

I step in a little closer. "If you wanted a dance all you had to do was ask."

Edward tips his head to one side a little, and his tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip. His focus is intense but his smile is crooked. It's the look that makes me melt, and one that he wears so well.

He leans back into his seat, and for a moment I'm afraid I've crossed a line. That he doesn't want me like this. Covered by a disguise, hidden behind Rose's bravado and bravery.

Tainted.

He brushes the back of his finger against his lips for a moment, holding my gaze. "I'm asking now."

"Ask me nicely," I whisper, still channelling bravery I don't normally have. I don't know where it comes from—certainly not from the mouthful of beer.

Finishing what's left of the beer in his bottle, I pass it back to him.

Edward's eyes travel from head to toe slow enough to make me fidget. He urges me closer with a flick of his long fingers, and when I reach him he lifts his hand slowly and curls his fingers into the ends of my fake red hair. With a gentle tug he slides the wig from my head, letting my own dark hair fall around my shoulders.

I can feel my heart beating against the back of my throat and also somewhere much deeper, somewhere hidden beneath flimsy lace. Goosebumps flash up my thighs as he settles back into his seat, nodding his head in my direction.

Smiling shakily, I say, "Since you asked so nicely," and on wobbly legs teeter over to the iPod to queue up the music.

I use the moment of space to take a deep breath to calm the rush of lust that's blurring my vision and causing my body heat to spike. I'm not used to feeling this way when I dance. It's a heady mix of excitement and nerves flavored with a strong undercurrent of need. But even here, in this place, this is so much more than some cheesy dance for money. This is another of those moments that will change things between us.

It's the spark before a fire, the flame that will fuel ever-present desire that ripples between us.

I flip idly through the music, letting the courage that's emerged take root in my chest. Until now everything with Edward has felt brand new, like I'm learning how to be with someone all over again. But this—this is what I do. This I'm good at.

The music starts slowly, and as the first beats thump over the sound system Edward's long legs, splayed wide in front of him, shift as he sits up, his hands clasped together in his lap like a good boy. I walk back to him, watching him watch the sway of my hips.

Standing in front of him, I bend down to brush my lips softly against his cheek. I can't help myself. I can't ignore the desire to be close to him. "I missed you," I whisper, inhaling the scent of his shaving cream and the deeper, warmer smell of his skin.

He turns a little, his gaze moving over my face. "You have no idea."

Braver than I've ever felt before, I stand and begin to move for him.

As the beat kicks in I roll my hips, letting the material of my dress swish against my thighs. I can feel him looking at me, feel his gaze on every inch of my body as my hands flutter over the exposed skin of my chest and down over my stomach and thighs. I lift the bottom of my dress slightly, exposing the tops of my thighs and the tiny pair of underwear sitting low on my hips.

Edward's bottom lip disappears between his teeth and he lets out a long slow breath.

The bass grinds slowly from the speakers as I let the dress fall again and lift my hands into my hair, dipping low until I'm at his feet. He swallows hard, his restraint visibly thin as he looks down at me, clearly enjoying the show. Lifting a little, I feel his muscles tense as my hands run the expanse of his thighs, my thumbs skimming the inner seam of his jeans.

The tension in his body makes me smile.

The control is a high, making me dizzy and crazy all at once.

When I rise and snake my way into his lap, he leans back a little, his mouth open a fraction as I grind my hips over his legs, my hands on his shoulders.

With any other man I'm someone else, masked, protected by a braver, stronger Rose. But right here, the way Edward looks at me makes me feel like I'm real. His eyes ground me, pulling me into the moment until everything around us falls away and it's just him and me—_the real me_.

My hair falls over my shoulders as I dance, my hands touching my body the way I so desperately want him to. I reach up, ready to slide my dress off of my shoulders when his hand stills mine.

My head tilts a little at his request.

"Leave it on," he says quietly.

Nodding my agreement, I continue to move. My body rocks and slides over his, my hands finding purchase on his shoulders, his chest, his legs. I want him to touch me so much that my skin aches for it.

But he doesn't.

He plays it cool and keeps his hands at his sides, even as I turn in his lap, pressing my back to his front and my ass into his lap. It isn't until I brush my hands over my chest, pressing together what little I have that fills my bra that he crumbles just a little beneath me.

It's barely a word. Just a breath. An exhale. A barely-there sigh.

"Fuck."

His breath washes over the bare skin of my shoulder, and between the bass rumbling through the speakers and the heat from his skin I can't tell who's more turned on, him or me. With each roll and pop of my hips it feels like my desire increases tenfold, the need to have him intensifying.

When I turn to face him, the heat beneath my skin soars as I watch Edward lose himself in my movements. His gaze follows my hands as they skim over my breasts and down my stomach, and his mouth opens a fraction as my fingers brush against the material between my legs before moving down my thighs slowly.

I can't help but feel a burst of satisfaction as his fingers twitch at his sides, pressing deep into the material of the seat like he's holding himself still.

The last few bars of the song pulse over my skin and into my veins, and as the tune recedes and the last notes hang in the air, I can't help but press a kiss to the twitching muscles in Edward's jaw. His head tilts toward mine, searching, his mouth close enough that I can feel his breath on my lips. But as he leans in to kiss me I shift away, smirking at the expression on his face.

I wink. "You'll have to wait."

With a final squeeze of his shoulders, I slide off of his lap.

My skin feels burned from the inside, red hot and raw. I don't know how I'll survive the rest of my life let alone the rest of the night.

Edward swallows hard, his head resting back against the seat. "Give me a minute," he says with a gravelly voice. I have to hide my smile as he palms himself through his jeans, shifting uncomfortably.

With hands that still shake with lust, I pin my wig back in place, giving Edward a moment to himself.

Just as I finish I feel him behind me. I turn, and he takes my hand in his, his strong hands pinning me to the earth.

He leans down, pressing his cheek to mine, whispering low and soft, the touch of his beard against my skin making me shiver.

"I'll wait up for you."

And with that, he lifts the curtain and disappears into the club.

* * *

**Thank you so very, very much to Rach, who looks over all of my chapters TWICE, because I'm fiddly. And even then I fiddle, so all mistakes are mine. Thank you also to my most wonderful Kitty, and to Rach for her input with this chapter, the smut peddler she is. **

**For me, this chapter is the one I saw first. Before anything was written. And The Weeknd's 'Wicked Games' was the song that inspired it. Have a listen if you like. **

**love always x**


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

* * *

Emmett is fast asleep with his head on my shoulder when I climb the stairs at five a.m. Strangely, I'm not as tired as I usually am at this time—although, that might be because I know what's waiting for me.

Like I could forget.

The last few hours of my shift were torturous. My skin still smelled of him, my body still ached to be touched by him, and everywhere I turned I found myself searching for his face, hoping to find him again.

I'm standing outside of Emmett's bedroom, watching him snore softly, when the apartment door opens quietly.

He looks freshly showered, his hair falling from its usual style and sticking up like it has a plan of its own. His feet are bare, poking out from the bottom of his sweats. Edward is beautiful—he always is—but tonight there's something dark and almost predatory lying beneath his perfect features.

He stands in the doorway, both of us silent, until finally—finally—he looks at me. Hard.

His face is dark like the beginning of a storm, and I wonder if I should brace myself or just hold on and let it break. My muscles tense as he stalks across the apartment, my pulse racing and the flame from earlier igniting with a rush.

Tonight there's no hesitation.

He lifts a hand and weaves it through my hair, his hand cupping the back of my head as he crushes me to his chest, his heart beating hard against his ribs, his lips pressing harder against my temple. The combination of the two is inescapably raw and unbearably tender.

"I wanted to do this earlier," he whispers into my hair, holding me tighter.

My fingers dig hard into his back, holding him close as his kisses move across my hairline and down my cheek.

"To feel you," he says quietly into my ear, the resulting goose bumps making me shiver hard against him. "To know that you're safe."

"Edward," I whisper in return, hoping that it somehow tells him what I want, how I feel, how much I need him.

His mouth covers mine and his body follows, the length of him pressed against the length of me until there's barely room to breathe. The weight feels good, it feels solid and real and grounding.

The brush of his tongue against mine makes me frantic, and when he presses his hips against me, the result of our heated kisses making itself known against my lower stomach, it's enough to make me push back, desperately looking for more. His kisses and his body pin me to the wall beside my bedroom door, his hands tight around my thighs, his body firm between. With my legs around his waist he kisses me until my world spins and my body aches.

"Last night," he whispers against my skin, his words coming in short pants as my fingers tug at his hair and his lips attack my throat and jaw line, "I was going out of my mind. The idea that someone was here…that you could have been here…that Emmett…"

He fights for control of the anger swelling within him. He takes a deep breath, his chest expanding against mine. I can feel the doorframe digging into my back, and Edward's fingers are so tight around my thighs I'm sure there will be finger-sized red spots left behind.

"Look at me, Edward," I urge, lifting his head with my hands. I cradle his face in my palms, forcing him to look at me. His green eyes, full of fire and hooded with desire, hold mine, his gaze fierce.

"I'm fine," I whisper, brushing a hand over the coarse hair that covers his jaw. "We're fine."

He kisses me again, his lips bruising but so very wanted, needed, craved, and we continue to kiss until I can barely think straight. Breathing heavily, Edward presses his head to my chest, and his breath on my sternum makes my legs tighten around his waist.

"We have to stop," he says quietly. "Otherwise—"

"Stay the night," I say, breathless with want. "Stay with me."

Edward tilts his head back a little to look at me again. His eyes search mine, looking for any sign of hesitation. "Are you sure?"

I link my hands together behind his head, drawing him close. "I'm so sure."

The touch of his mouth against mine again makes me burn, and the way he touches me makes it impossible not to curve my body against his almost instinctively, pushing against him wherever I can.

We move awkwardly into the bedroom, Edward kicking the door closed a little as he moves. His shirt is the first to go, tossed somewhere at the foot of my bed. Towering over me, he follows until my legs are against my mattress, his eyes devouring me as my shirt follows his, lost somewhere to my darkened bedroom. I sit gently on the edge of the bed, my hands steady as they reach for the waistband of his sweat pants. We both watch as I slide them down his legs until he's in nothing but grey cotton.

"Shift back," he says, gesturing with his head.

I move back a little, enough to allow him room to rest one knee on the bed beside me. Warm fingers dance across my stomach, creating a flash of goose bumps in their wake. So, so gently, Edward unbuttons my jeans, and even the sensation of the denim sliding over my bare legs sends a shiver up my spine.

My whole body tenses as his hands slide up from my knees to my inner thighs. Both of our eyes follow as he smoothes his thumbs over the cotton of my underwear, making my hips jerk in response.

When his body settles over mine I actually sigh. I reach for him, seeking the comfort of his lips against mine. Within minutes my bra has joined the pile of clothes on the floor, and between the sensation of Edward's mouth on my breast and his thigh between mine, I'm lost.

"Is this okay?" he asks, looking up at me.

I have no doubt he can feel the heat radiating from me, feel just how responsive my body is to his touch, but I nod anyway, my lip caught between my teeth. Kissing his way across my chest, his arm slides down my stomach until his hand is laying flat against me, his fingers touching me softly over my underwear and making my hips shake. We continue like that—him with his hand between my legs and me with mine in his hair—until my knees are shaking and I can't stop pressing myself up and into the palm of his hand.

There are whispered curses from us both as his fingers move and he slips beneath the edge of my underwear, the small movements making my skin pebble and my mouth fall open. He groans softly as I arch into his touch, his mouth covering my nipple as his fingers work slowly. My eyes roll as his mouth travels over the ridge of my sternum and down onto the sensitive skin of my stomach, his hand never leaving the space between my legs. With his head resting between my hipbones, his breath comes in warm pants as he watches his fingers dip in and out of me, and the thought that he's watching himself fuck me with his fingers sends a jolt of heat right where his hand is.

When I'm about to break, when there's nothing left of me but sensation and heat and the touch of his hands against me, he stops.

I gasp, frantically trying to suppress the urge to beg him to keep going.

"You have to be quiet," he whispers against my skin, and I don't understand why until he slides down farther, his knees resting at the foot of the bed. My hands tighten in the sheets beside my hips as he slides my underwear down my legs. I'm used to being undressed in front of men, but I've never felt more naked than I do beneath Edward's eyes. They're everywhere at once, his mouth open a little as he looks down at me.

He kisses my inner thigh slowly, his tongue sliding slowly upward.

"Oh my God," I whisper, the heat of a blush raging up my neck.

Edward looks up, a smirk tilting his mouth.

"I'm sorry," I say, my hand over my eyes. "It's just no one's been that close to…me…since Emmett was born."

He rolls his eyes, and I laugh again, covering my mouth with my hand as his teeth sink into the flesh on my inner thigh and the giggle turns into a moan.

"Can you be quiet?" he asks again, looking up at me from between my legs.

I nod, trying to control my breathing.

I've barely had time to collect my thoughts when his mouth is on me and I have to cover my face to stop from shouting his name. He uses his hands and his tongue, and in moments I'm squirming and writhing beneath his touch, shamelessly opening my legs for him. It takes everything I have not to cry out when I come, my mouth open and my eyes scrunched shut as my body shakes.

I'm still shaking when, finally, Edward brings his mouth back to mine, pressing me back into the bed as his body settles on top of mine. My hips jerk as he rests his weight between my thighs, and when I press up against him he groans, pressing back. My body continues to pulse and shiver for him, and even though my muscles are jelly my blood still sings with need.

All that separates us is the thin material of his boxer shorts. All it would take is one slight movement, the shift of material. "Please, Edward," I whisper, tightening my legs around his hips.

The scruff of his beard rasps against my neck as he shifts a little, pressing his hips into mine again, and his back tenses beneath my hands. My hand slides down to anchor him against me, the weight of his hips bones against my inner thighs foreign but welcomed.

When I reach up to skim my lips across the thundering pulse in his neck, he swallows loudly, resting his head on my shoulder. His hand slides around my thigh, shifting it higher as he rocks against me.

I can feel him, hot and hard against my sensitive flesh, and it drives me fucking wild.

"I didn't think—I thought…"

I slide a hand beneath the waistband of his briefs, bordering on desperate.

With a grunt, he pulls my hand from his hip and pins it to the pillow beside my head. His voice shakes. "I can't."

I'm quiet for a moment.

"You…what?"

Edward lifts his head to look at me, his expression a mixture of pain and apology. "Emmett," he whispers. "I can't with him right next door." He sighs, resting his head on my shoulder. "I can't focus. I—I'm sorry."

For a moment we're silent but for my breathing and the thunder of our heartbeats.

Edward's body sags into mine. "I can't stand the thought of him walking in."

When I start to giggle his weight collapses on top of me, his head buried in my neck. I have to cover my mouth to stifle the sound of my laughter.

"I'm sorry," he says again, rolling himself from atop me.

I lie there for a moment, catching my breath, giving my heart a moment to calm its frenzied pace. Edward is quiet, his jaw clenched and his eyes shut tight.

Smiling, I roll onto one side. Reaching over, I run a finger down the side of his face, over the blush that's warming his cheeks. "It's fine. I get it," I say. "We have time."

Groaning a little, Edward turns to face me, wrapping an arm over my waist and holding me close. We're silent for a little while, the electricity that pulses through us settling into something like a hum, a gentle vibration between us. It's comfort and peace and contentment, it's the heat of Edward's skin beside me, and the man within that skin that cares for me unlike anyone has in a long time. As tired as I am, I almost want to stay awake just to bask in it.

"So," I whisper. "You liked the dance?"

Looking up at me, Edward blinks slowly, staring at me like _are you serious right now? _

Smiling, I tuck my lip between my teeth as I edge closer to him. "Tell me."

He reaches up to brush my hair from my cheek, tucking it behind my ear. Quiet for a moment, his fingers tangle in the ends of my hair. If I could purr I would.

"It's like watching you come alive," he says finally. "You move like you're finally realizing how beautiful you are. It's…" His hand splays flat against my lower back as he pulls me closer. "It's so fucking sexy."

I can't help it; I blush.

"You're confident," he continues, his finger moving upwards to brush the outside of my breast. "More than you are anywhere else. You're awake. Present. You're goddamn heartbreaking."

My words are barely a whisper. "Heartbreaking?"

Edward nods.

"I really did miss you," I say. "So much."

"So much," he echoes, gently touching his soft lips to my kiss-bruised ones.

With my hands flat against his shoulders, I press him until he's on his back and I'm straddling his lap. Regardless of how he's made me feel, I still want him any way I can have him.

I make him shudder and moan with my mouth across every inch of his skin I can reach.

His hands touch my sides, my hips, my face, wherever they can find. When I slip my hand into the front of his boxers this time, it's him who makes the promise to be quiet.

"I can't…_fuck_…I can't promise anything if you keep doing that."

His back arches and the muscles around his hips tense as I take him into my mouth. True to his word, he is quiet, even when he whispers my name as his hips jerk into my hand, his jaw tight.

* * *

Sunlight has just begun to peek in under the curtains when Edward's voice cuts through the silence.

"Are you scared?"

Heavy with sleep, I lift my head. "Of what?"

"Of this," he says. "Of me."

I shift, our legs tangling beneath the sheets. "Why would I be scared?"

Edward pulls me against him, bringing the comforter up over our shoulders.

"Because I'm scared every day. You've already been through so much—more than anyone should at your age. Your ex, Marcus, your father, Leah—you deserve more than this life." He's silent for a moment. Eyes closed, I press my ear to his chest, listening to his heart beat a slow and steady rhythm. "I want you to have more, to have everything. I'm afraid that I can't give it to you, and the thought of hurting you scares me so much I can't breathe sometimes."

I eat up his words, savoring them, tasting them, letting them roll around my head. It's maybe more than I've ever heard him say at once. His words are so sweet it's almost painful.

"I was scared," I say truthfully, brushing my fingers through the short hair above his ear. "But I'm not anymore."

Edward turns to press his cheek into my palm.

"I guess I finally realized I'm not scared of being hurt anymore. I'm not afraid that you'll break me because…I'm already broken, Edward."

"No—"

"Yes," I say, smiling. "I've seen the bottom, Edward. I've been there. I don't know what's left to give you, but what I have is yours." I rest my hands on his chest, splaying them wide, smiling at the contrast between my pale, clean skin, and his. "I know that whatever we have isn't easy, and I know that being with you means knowing there are parts of your life I might never know about. But you promised me once you would never hurt my family, and I believe you."

Edward is silent, but his heart beats steadily beneath my palm. He's absorbing my words, turning them and fixing them into the places they fit inside of him.

"I've never been this afraid of anything in my life," he says quietly.

"Don't be afraid," I whisper back. "I'll keep you safe."

The words settle between us, thick like a blanket, warming the space between us.

"I would do anything for you," he whispers, his voice lazy and filled with the sound of sleep.

Visions of a smashed up yellow Porsche flicker before my eyes, of bloody knuckles and bruised cheeks. I swallow thickly. "I know."

Even as I try to fall asleep I can't help but think of the night before and the deal I've made with Marcus. It all feels so far away, like another lifetime. Nevertheless, it's a deal that can't be broken, a promise made to a dangerous man. Just this once, I think to myself. Once and then I'm done for good.

I'll find a way out.

I'll find a way to pull myself free of the mess I've gotten myself into.

We lie there quietly, and I listen as his breathing eventually evens out and he falls asleep.

"I'm not afraid of falling in love with you," I say quietly, knowing Edward won't hear me. "If I was it's too late anyway."

* * *

Just moments later—or what feels like moments anyway—the bedroom door swings open, and an excited Emmett launches himself up and onto my bed.

"It's my birthday! It's my birthday!"

The bed bounces as Emmett springs up and down clapping. My eyes are glued shut with exhaustion, and it's not until Emmett accidentally kicks me in the leg that finally they pop open. The first thing I notice is that Edward is no longer beside me. My heart lurches for a moment, but then I hear the taps in the bathroom and I relax a little.

It wasn't a dream.

Reaching out, I open my arms for Emmett to fall into, and with a smile he plops down on top of me.

"Happy birthday," I say, holding him tightly, savoring the feeling of my favorite boy in my arms. "Oh my God!" I gasp, holding him at arm's length. "Did you grow bigger overnight?"

I laugh as Emmett wriggles out of my grasp to bounce on the bed again.

"Maybe," he replies. "I'm five now."

"You are."

Edward appears at the bedroom door, Emmett's slippers in his hand. "Dude, come put your slippers on and I'll make your birthday breakfast, okay?"

"What about Momma?" Emmett asks, still bouncing. "Can she has breakfast as well?"

"Let Momma sleep for a bit," replies Edward, ushering Emmett to him.

"'Kay." With a final bounce, Emmett launches himself off the bed with a thump. "Can we have cake soon, too, Edward? And presents? And when can we go to McDonalds?"

"Let's start with breakfast."

Emmett dances away to put his slippers on, and I stretch, unable to hide a huge yawn.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Edward reaches out to cover my exposed feet. "Sleep a little more," he says. "I'll look after Em for a minute."

"You're not tired?"

He shakes his head. "I don't sleep much. A couple hours is all I need."

It's Emmett's birthday. I should be awake and alert, but my eyes just don't want to cooperate, and the more I try to think about getting up, the harder it seems. Plus, the luxury of a sleep in, even a small one, is too good to turn down. I smile up at Edward, nodding.

"Just a few more minutes. I promise."

Leaning over, he presses a kiss to my bare shoulder. "I'll come get you."

My eyes slide closed as he leaves, closing the door behind him, and my body relaxes back into the sheets.

Still, I barely sleep. I can't stop thinking about the night before and everything that's led up to it.

I realize, as I lie there wrapped in my sheets that smell of us, that moments like this are exactly why being with Edward is so dangerous. In a moment, with just one touch, one look, he can lift the weight of the world from my shoulders. With him I don't have to think about Blush, or about the debt collectors, about Marcus and his bullshit.

He makes me think that maybe I could have a normal life again.

He's become the question and the answer, the beginning and the end.

He gives me hope.

* * *

**Thank you to all of the lovely ladies on FB for all of their kind words, pics and love, and to everyone who leaves me their wonderful words here. **

**To Rach and Kitty for reading and for their wonderful thoughts and advice. To Rach for not screaming every time she has to delete the words "I feel". I feel she's amazing. **

**xx**


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

* * *

After I finally drag myself out of bed, I find Emmett standing beside Edward in the kitchen, the two of them whispering. The smell of batter and burned pancakes wafts around the kitchen. "What are you two up to?" I ask, unable to keep the smile off of my face.

Glancing at me over his shoulder, Edward lifts the spatula in the air. "Making birthday pancakes."

By his side, Emmett swallows whatever is in his mouth, his lips smeared with chocolate. "They keep getting burned. We keep flippin' them but they come out burned."

"You keep eating them anyway," says Edward with a laugh.

Moving in beside them, I lean over the frying pan, inhaling the smell of melted butter. Edward very carefully slides the spatula under a pancake, his knuckles paling with tension when he flips it and the underside is burned instead of golden brown. His hand tightens around the spatula, and even without looking I can tell he's clenching his jaw.

"You want me to take over?" I ask, pressing against his side lightly as I reach over to turn the heat down a little.

His mouth twitches, his eyes cutting to me momentarily before sliding back to the hot plate. "I got it."

"No, let Momma do it, Edward. She makes them the best."

Edward shakes his head, whispering, "Traitor," as he hands me the spatula.

I usher them both to the table to sit down while I salvage what's left of the mix. A few minutes later, with a plate stacked high with chocolate chip pancakes, I turn the stove off and reach between Edward and Emmett to place them on the table. The sudden touch of Edward's fingers against my thigh sends a ripple of goose bumps up my spine. His touch is warm, the pads of his fingers a little rough against my soft skin.

I look down at him, but he's watching Emmett pour a gallon of maple syrup over his pancakes. Like I'm made of cement, I stay frozen in my spot as his warm fingers drift up the back of my leg slowly, grazing the skin beneath the edge of my pajama shorts. My whole body shakes as a shiver runs the length of my spine. The urge to stay there and let his fingers explore is overwhelming.

Instead, with more willpower than I ever knew I had, I step away from his touch and practically fall into my seat. I don't need to look at Edward to know there's a lazy grin plastered across his face. From the corner of my eye I see him scratch his fingers through his beard, hiding a smile. The smile widens as I kick him beneath the table.

"Eat your pancakes," I whisper, trying but failing to be serious.

Sitting so close, knowing that just hours before I'd been laid out beneath him, I find it hard to look at him without heat creeping into my skin. It's childish and silly and fantastic. If I could bottle up the feeling I would. Maybe put it on a shelf for another day.

* * *

After breakfast, Edward checks out the repair job on the door.

"There was nothing left behind?" he asks, checking the new locks.

"Nothing."

"And you didn't see anyone?"

I shake my head.

The muscles around his jaw tight, Edward nods in agreement. I can see he's playing it out in his head, worrying over every detail, reliving his misplaced guilt at not being here.

"You don't have any idea who it could have been?" he asks, closing the door again. He looks at me expectantly, but there's nothing I can say.

It's like my lips have been glued shut.

Marcus has already shown he's not averse to harming me or mine, and the thought of something happening to Edward makes me instantly sick. On the flip side, I've already seen what Edward can do, and part of me knows deep down that just as Marcus is capable of harm, Edward too has a dangerous side.

So I lie. And I hate it. "No."

He's quiet for the rest of the morning, deep inside his own head. Just before lunch he makes a move to leave, sliding his jacket up and onto his shoulders, shrugging it into place.

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I watch him slip his keys into his pocket, along with his phone and wallet.

Sensing my concern, Edward stops, standing close. "I'm just meeting some people. I won't be long, I promise."

"Will you be back in time for cake?"

"Of course."

"Do you want to…" I lick my lips, suddenly feeling shy. "Will you stay the night again?"

Edward glances briefly at Emmett. When he looks back it's with eyes that speak of sleepless nights and tangled sheets. "I'd like that."

I wish I could just reach up and kiss him, but I can feel Emmett a few feet away, watching.

A moment between us appears—a beat of silence that could easily be filled with words of love.

But feeling it is one thing; saying it is another. So he leaves me with a squeeze of my hand and the kind of smile I've waited so long to see on him, the kind that feels like the sun on my skin, like it's all for me—_because of me_. It's earth-shattering. Bone-melting. Heartbreaking.

My heart beats out his name with a thump as he leaves.

* * *

While Edward is out, I take Emmett to the toy store and let him pick out a birthday present. He picks a ninja costume, complete with plastic throwing stars. I can already see the trouble he's going to get himself into, but buy it for him anyway. We cook hotdogs for lunch, and afterward I sit sifting through the mail while Emmett plays around.

I rip open a formal-looking letter, and my hands immediately begin to sweat as I read.

"Jesus," I whisper to myself.

It's a speeding fine. A stupid mistake, yes, but coupled with an additional fine for an unregistered car, it's almost a thousand dollars. I curse myself for forgetting to file the paperwork. In my haste and excitement to get on the road again it completely slipped my mind.

"You idiot."

"Who's an idiot?" asks Emmett from the lounge room.

"I am, honey," I reply, my cheeks flaming. After everything I've done to get what little money we have, I've thrown it all away with one stupid mistake.

"You said that's a mean word."

"It is a mean word. I shouldn't have said it."

I make a note to call and arrange a payment plan for the fine and to have the car checked before I have it registered. Yet more money I don't have. It isn't until mid-afternoon, when Emmett goes to watch _Walking With Dinosaurs_ for the eleven millionth time, that he realizes the DVD player is gone.

"Momma," he calls, disc in hand, "where's the player?"

I almost inhale my mouthful of coffee. "I had to take it to get fixed." Yet another lie. "I broke it."

"You broke it?" Sitting on his knees, he looks at me across the room. "But why?"

"It was an accident, honey. I didn't mean to."

He looks down at the disc and then back up at me. "But how will I watch Dinosaurs?"

"You'll just have to watch TV until I can get it fixed."

My shoulders tense as Emmett's bottom lip drops a little, his head hanging as he stares at the disc in his hands. In that moment I've never hated anyone as much as I hate Marcus. The red hot feeling of loathing fires through my veins, leaving my heart thumping wildly and my jaw tight.

Right there.

That look on his face.

That's the moment I realize that Marcus has found his way into all of the beautiful parts of my life. All of the safe places that I thought I had have been infected by his vile presence. I want him out. I want to scrub him from my skin and from existence.

But then I think of Leah. Of the people she left behind and the questions unanswered. The knowledge that we'll never know where she went and what happened to her.

I think of someone breaking into my home. A stranger in my house, in the place I raise my child and keep him safe.

I feel like a mouse - backed into a corner, the only way out more dangerous than if I stay.

The letter creases and crinkles in my hand as my fist tightens.

I will do anything to take that look from Emmett's face. I will go anywhere and be anyone I need to be to stop him from wanting.

There is nothing I wouldn't do for him.

* * *

Emmett is still running around like a crazy kid in his costume when Edward come back, but grinds to a halt when he sees the red-wrapped present under his arm.

"Is that for me?"

Edward smiles, and Emmett giggles with glee, clapping his hands.

He and Edward sit side by side as he tears into the paper, revealing the same Tonka trunk that had been stolen from us not two nights before. Thrilled, Emmett immediately begs Edward to take it out of the box and out of its packaging.

"Wow," I say, smiling at both boys. "Did you say thank you?"

Standing, Emmett practically throws himself into Edward, winding his short arms around his neck. "Thanks, Edward," he says quietly.

Edward's hand comes to rest on Emmett's back gently. "All good, man. No problems."

When Emmett pulls away I don't know who looks happier—Edward or Emmett.

"You didn't have to do that," I whisper as Edward finds me in the kitchen later, putting the finishing touches on Emmett's birthday dinner.

"I had one when I was young," he says. "Figured what little boy wouldn't love it."

My mind wanders, imagining a little bronze-haired boy pushing around a yellow Tonka truck, his brows pulled together the same way older-Edward's do.

"I know you wanted to get him one, too."

Wiping my hands on the dishcloth, I turn to face him. I check quickly that Emmett is occupied, and then lift up onto my toes to kiss Edward quickly. He looks surprised, but does the same after I pull away, sneaking back for a second kiss. I don't know if I will ever get bored of the feeling of his lips on mine.

"Thank you," I say with a sigh.

The red spots on his cheeks I'm so fond of appear. He reaches up to run a hand over his hair self-consciously. "It's just a truck."

Slipping a finger into the belt loops of his jeans, I tug him toward me. "Not just the truck. Everything. Thank you for everything that you do for us." I look up at him, meeting his green eyes. "For me.

"I don't think I've told you how much I appreciate everything you do." His fingers wrap around the ones I have looped in his jeans, his touch giving me the courage to continue. "I know you think it's no big deal, but it is. Emmett hasn't had a guy around since his dad, and he's never really had friends. With you he has both of those things. I can't think of a better person for him to be around than you."

"I just want to help," he says. "I want to make things easy for you. I want to…be here for you."

There's a pause. An empty moment between us where the words "I love you" might fit.

We both feel it. It's in Edward's eyes. In the way his hand tightens around mine. Putting aside any fear of Emmett seeing, I step into Edward's arms, one of the only spaces left in the word where I feel unconditionally safe.

We stand like that, my arms folded between us, my head against his chest, for what feels like forever. His heart beats a steady rhythm beneath his ribs, my own heart slowing a little to match its pace.

I used to wonder what it would feel like to love someone like Edward. What it would feel like to have him love me in return.

There, in his arms, I feel it: the dizzying feeling of falling in love.

* * *

But every fall needs the bottom. The thump.

The moment when life reminds you that there is still a world outside of tangled sheets and breathy sighs. That as much as you'd like to stay safe and warm in your little bubble there is an ugly reality that needs to be faced.

One minute i'm blowing out candles and cooking mid-week dinners, the next I'm sitting in front of a forty-story apartment building, my overnight bag on the passenger seat, the cold weight of dread heavy in the pit of my stomach.

Craning my head back to see anywhere near the top, I think back over my conversation with Edward.

_"Can I ask a favor?"_

_He lifts his head from where he's hunched over a book with Emmett, the two of them at the kitchen table while I make dinner. The domesticity of the moment doesn't escape my notice._

_"Can you look after Em Thursday night?"_

_Edward leans back into his chair, resting his arm across the back of Emmett's seat. "Thursday?" As he reaches up to scratch the long hair on his cheek I almost forget how to stir the soup in the pan. Memories of that hair scratching my inner thighs are so fresh I swear my knees wobble a little. "Yeah, I guess. You're working late?" he asks, his eyes finding mine across the table. _

_I nod, turning back to the soup that thankfully hasn't burned in the pan. "I picked up a shift." I turn back to him again. "It's just this week."_

_The chair scrapes against the floor as Edward slides out from beneath the table. "At the club or the diner?"_

"_The club," I say, staring intently at the pot in front of me as he appears beside me. "Some private party."_

_Edward thinks over his next words, the apprehension pouring off of him. "Do you need help? Like...money?" he asks, standing close. _

"_Of course I need money, Edward," I reply quietly. "They're offering me a whole week's wage in one night, so…" I let the words linger in the air. While I don't want to lie to him, I also don't need him worrying about me. _

_"What are you doing for a week's wage?"_

"_Dancing."_

_From the corner of my eye I watch as Edward stares at the side of my face. I can hear the cogs clicking over. "I can loan you some money, you know?" My raised eyebrow sends him scrambling for more. "You'd pay me back, of course. It would just be a loan."_

_I turn the gas off with a little more force than necessary. "I don't need a loan, Edward. I need to work."_

_He's silent, watching as I pour the soup into three bowls. As I drop the pan into the sink, I feel his fingertips against my elbow, a soft pressure._

_"Just tell me that you're safe. That you're not doing something stupid."_

_I turn and he looks at me for a long minute, his eyes searching mine for an answer I don't have, a truth I can't give him._

_In the end he simply pushes from the counter beside me, leaving me with nothing but a gut full of acid—the kind of burn that follows a lie. Because a lie by omission is still that - a lie._

He let the issue go, my stubborn nature no match for his need to fix everything. Even so, sitting in my car, looking up at the apartment building I'm supposed to go into, I'm kicking myself for not telling him where I was going. I check my phone - making sure the battery is charged - and I slide a small can of pepper spray into the side pocket of my bag.

The apartment building reaches so high I need to crane my neck to see anywhere near the top. A polished metal and glass entrance gleams, my heels click-clacking against the sleek marble floor as I walk to the elevator. The ride up seems like it takes a heartbeat, and I'm unsure whether the sinking feeling in my stomach is the gravity or just me. The elevator pings, and the doors slide open to reveal the penthouse apartment.

Two of the biggest men I've ever seen are standing by the double doors, almost as wide and easily as tall. They both look me over, their faces carefully neutral.

"I'm here to see Marcus."

The one on the left nods and gestures for me to hand him the bag that's slung over my shoulder. I hand it over, momentary worry increased as the other steps toward me.

"Arms out," he says.

Hands the size of bear paws pat each of my arms, over my chest and back, and down each of my legs.

With a nod my bag is zipped up and the doors open.

"Welcome."

* * *

The apartment is luxury beyond anything I've ever seen before. Ceiling-high windows reach from one end to the other, the bright lights of the city glittering below. The plush, cream-colored carpet molds to my feet as I walk, and I have to resist the urge to lie down and press my face against it. It smells like fresh cut flowers and brand new paint, like wealth and entitlement and all the things I'll never have.

Marcus and Tania are already there, the latter lounging across the leather sofa, her long legs draped elegantly. A champagne glass dangles lazily from her long fingers as she assesses me from across the room.

Wanting.

She always comes away wanting.

"Here she is!" Marcus rises from his seat. His smile is broad and bordering on real; even so, I want to smack it off his face. "Thank you for coming," he says, and I actually snort in response.

"It's not like I had a choice."

"There is always a choice, Bella," he says quietly. "And this is the right one. Trust me."

His arm tightens around my shoulders, and rather than supportive it feels restrictive. He ushers me into the kitchen, where there are already a few girls in various states of dress. Kate, who I know from the club, is still in her jeans, her hand wrapped around a glass of champagne.

"Drink?" asks Marcus.

I shake my head.

He shrugs, seeming unconcerned. "Well, if you change your mind." He gestures to the tall blonde standing beside me. "Jamie will show you where you can put your things."

Jamie, complete with dazzling blue eyes and dark hair, wobbles on a pair of sky-high pleaser heels down the carpeted hallway toward a bedroom, her perfect behind swaying beneath sheer white lace. Without a glance at me she opens the bedroom door and rolls open a wardrobe door.

"You can put your shit in here," she drawls, flicking her long chocolate hair over her shoulder.

"Thanks," I reply, managing a small smile.

She shrugs, completely disinterested. "Whatever. Just don't steal nothin'."

Jamie barely looks back before leaving me alone in the huge plush bedroom to change.

I guess a friendly face is too much to ask tonight.

I'm in red. A bright, candy-apple red that makes my skin look milky and bright. The hem skims the top of my thighs and the neckline is low enough just to cover my nipples. Tonight though, I leave my hair natural, letting it fall over my shoulders.

The lighting in the bathroom is warm, making my hair look shiny and sleek and my skin flawless. I am the picture of seduction with pouty pink lips, and as thick, dark lashes and smoky eyes stare back at me in the mirror, I've never felt less like myself.

Rosalie stares back at me, but even her confidence is shaken in a place like this.

Marcus is standing with his back to the windows, his outline backlit by the city lights below. With his hair slicked into style and his expensive suit he looks just like the criminal he is.

His dark eyes travel the length of my body, but there's no lust there, simply greed. He doesn't see me; he sees money.

"So, is this a private party?" I ask, looking out across the darkened skyline behind him.

Marcus smiles, sliding an arm around my shoulder again. I shrug out of his touch. If I didn't know him better, if I couldn't see beneath his snake smile, I'd think he was genuine. "Just a bunch of businessmen in from New York," he says, trying to sound reassuring. "They want to blow off a little steam is all. Have some fun."

"What kind of fun?" Marcus opens his mouth to reply, but I get there first. "The truth, Marcus."

He shuts his mouth with a snap, the false veneer slipping away. "You're just here to look pretty, Bella. Sit on laps, laugh at jokes—make them feel special. That's all I'm asking."

But that's not all he's asking. And the moment the first girl disappears into a bedroom with one of the guys, I know I'm in way over my head.

There are fifteen of them, all in suits and ties, and in various states of intoxication. There are five of us girls, and then there's Tania and Marcus of course. Unlike Blush there's no security here, and there are no cameras. It's just us, and what goes on behind closed doors scares me more than anything.

We're paraded out like cattle, like whores, like prizes.

Here it's different. In the club I'm in control. I pick who I dance for and maintain control over my actions. Here, I feel like a piece of meat. I'm just the entertainment rather than the object of desire. Nothing about this fills me with the confidence I get from dancing. Instead, I'm filled with anger. Anger at Marcus for dragging me into this, and anger at Tanya for sitting by, but most of all anger at myself for making stupid decisions. For being so stubborn and prideful, for not taking Edward up on his offer, for leaving him at home while I do stupid, stupid things like this.

I'm desperately trying to think of a way out when a large hand wraps around my forearm gently.

"Hey."

I turn, glancing down at the hand wrapped around my arm. The guy snatches it back, tucking it into his pocket with a sheepish smile.

"Hi," I reply, turning to face him. He's all blonde and blue-eyed, crisp white shirt and just enough of a smirk to be attractive rather than smug.

"Rose, right?"

I nod, and he smiles wider. Normally I'd smile back. Flirt a little—a glance here, a gentle touch there coupled with a little coy eye contact. But I'm so nervous all I can do is nod.

"Alec," he says, extending a hand toward mine.

I shake his outstretched hand, hoping mine isn't sweating with fear.

He keeps my hand in his, his thumb brushing the back. "You look nervous, Rose."

Managing a coy smile, I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth. "A little."

Alec shrugs, smiling kindly. "Don't be. We're all good guys." His cheeks dimple as he smiles, his blue eyes glittering. "Can I get you a drink?"

I open my mouth to decline, but my hands are still shaking at my side, so I decide maybe a drink is a good idea. "Sure," I reply, my hand on his arm as he leads us toward the bar the end of the room.

The whiskey is good. Top shelf. Two fingers on ice seems to be the only thing standing between me and the door.

"So what do you do?" I ask, cradling the glass in my hands and standing close enough that I can smell the expensive aftershave Alec wears.

"Banking," he replies. "We flew in from Dallas just yesterday. Fly back out tomorrow afternoon."

The conversation flows easily between Alec and me. After a while we take a seat on the huge leather sofa, and, playing the good girl, I sit on his lap with my arm draped around his neck. I sip slowly from the glass of whiskey in my hand, savoring the woody, smoky flavor on my tongue.

I almost think I can do this.

"Better?" he asks, a laugh lingering on the edge of his voice.

The warmth of the alcohol is welcomed into my stomach, and I actually smile. "Much better."

Alec turns out to be a gentleman. His hands steer clear of the no-go areas, and even though his eyes wander he keeps his conversation respectful and playful. But playful and respectful aren't going to earn me money.

Two of the girls sit opposite us, where one very lucky man sits between them snorting lines of powder from their breasts. It's like a cheesy eighties movie come to life. I'm just not sure where I fit in or where to start.

"You're hair is a lovely color," Alec comments, touching the ends.

Reaching up, I brush my fingers through the front of his blonde hair. "So is yours. You don't often see this color on a grown man." He smiles, looking sheepish, and I giggle, smiling back. "It's lovely. Really."

Leaning in a little closer, I wrap an arm over his shoulder, bringing our bodies flush. "You must have a very lucky wife at home."

His blue eyes widen a little, before flickering nervous between my mouth and my eyes. "I guess I would if I had a wife."

Smirking, I whisper quietly in his ear, my hand coming to rest on his chest. "Lucky for me then."

He grins, his eyes flickering to my mouth and back. "Yes it is."

"Rose," says Marcus, suddenly appearing behind me. "There are a few gentlemen here who would also like the privilege of your company." He smiles at Alec over my shoulder. "I'll bring her right back."

Alec hesitates for a moment, but in the end unwraps his arm from around me, allowing me to stand from his lap.

"You make sure you bring her back," he warns with a friendly smile.

Marcus slides an arm over my shoulder, holding me tightly. "Of course."

It's a lie.

Five minutes later I find myself alone in a bedroom, dancing for an overweight balding man who masturbates in front of me, his forehead glistening with sweat, his sausage-like fingers wrapped around his dick. His cum splatters the floor at the end of the bed, narrowly missing my toes. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wipes it across his head, and then between his fingers.

"Thanks, honey," he says, still breathless as he hands me two crisp hundred dollar bills.

Jamie and I dance for a small group of guys in the lounge area, and when the guy who looks to be the boss waves a handful of bills at us, Jamie doesn't hesitate to press her lips against mine. We roll around on the floor for a few minutes, her hands all over my skin, her head between my legs as she pretends to put her mouth on me. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to play along. Not to wipe her saliva, now cooling on my skin, off. Her hands are not gentle as she wraps them around my breasts, and I swear I feel one of her false nails pierce my skin as she takes a handful of my ass.

In the end the boss man hands us three hundred each.

It almost feels worth it.

The night seems to go on forever, but finally—_finally_—after what feels like an eternity, Marcus agrees to let me leave for the night. I'm taking the elevator down when I realize I've got almost twelve hundred dollars in my hand. And that's after I gave Marcus his share.

Still, the urge to shower off the filth I feel both on my skin and beneath it is overwhelming.

"Hey."

I turn so fast I almost lose my footing.

Alec steps out from his spot against the building, tossing a cigarette aside.

"Oh," I reply. "Hey."

A grin creeps across his face. "Didn't mean to scare you."

He walks toward me, and as calm and nice as he's trying to make me believe he is, I still take a step away as he gets closer.

"I didn't get to see you again," he says with a shrug.

Pulling my jacket tight, I manage a tired smile in reply. "Full dance card, I'm afraid. Next time."

"Why don't you come back upstairs for a while?" His tie is loose, hanging limply around his neck, and there is lipstick smeared like a cliché across his collar.

I gesture to my truck. "Think I might call it a night. Thanks for the offer though."

"Aw," he coos, pushing a hand through his hair. "I thought we had something, you and me. A connection."

As hard as it is, I hold back from rolling my eyes. "Dude, it was a lap dance, not a date."

He laughs, looking wounded, and that's when I realize how drunk he is. "Aw, girl. Don't play like that. Come on back up and we can talk some more."

I lift my keys, jangling them at him. "Like I said, I gotta go. But thanks."

"Stay," he says, moving toward me so quickly I almost back right into my car. "I'll give you another three hundred."

My fingers tighten around my keys. "Alec," I warn, holding up my other hand in defense. "No. I'm going home, and so are you."

Hand shaking, I turn to unlock my car, hoping to get in and away from him as quickly as possible.

Turning my back on him is my biggest mistake.

* * *

**Thank you. Everyone. For everything. **

**Wink x**

**xx**


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Chapter Twenty**

* * *

"Don't turn your back on me."

Alec's voice is razor-edged, slicing right through me.

In the beat it takes me to realize he's not the sweet-natured, mild-mannered guy I think he is, I'm pressed against the side of the car, his weight crushing me from behind, my arms pinned between my body and the car.

"Come on," he whispers. "I saw the way you looked at me."

His breath brushes against the back of my neck, the side of my face, my cheek. He reeks of whiskey and cologne.

"Get off me," I force out between gritted teeth, trying to push him away.

"You know you want this," he says, pressing himself against my lower back. His hand slides over my hip, his fingers reaching up beneath my T-shirt. My throat tightens with fear, but instead of pressing back against him, I slam my hips forward, trapping his fingers against the car door.

"Don't be like that," he says with a sickly sweet tone. His voice makes my skin crawl.

"I said stop."

He chuckles, his breath hot on my face. "Yeah, you said that. But I know what you're like. You can't tell me you don't want it."

I try my hardest to wriggle free, my mind reeling at just how strong he is. "I want you to get the fuck off me."

Alec eases up the pressure against me for a split second, just long enough to slam my head against the truck window. Pain lances through my cheekbone and into my skull, sending white-hot sparks dancing across my vision. The glass is icy cold against my face, so cold it almost burns.

"You've got a fucking mouth on you."

He laughs again, but there's venom behind it; he's not playing around anymore. He's angry. He's angry and he's drunk and it's one in the morning and there's not a single soul around. The door handle bites into my hip, and my heart hammers so hard I'm momentarily worried I'll throw up.

All I can think of is Emmett.

All I can think about is getting home to him, to the safety of my apartment, and to the safety of a pair of strong arms I know are waiting for me.

My blood pumps hard, pushing adrenaline around my body until I hear my heart beating in my ears.

Hot, clammy hands reach for my waistband, and it's like something snaps inside me. Alec's fatal error is releasing his hold on me for a split second.

He leans back, trying to tug at my jeans, and I take the opportunity to throw my head back as hard as I can into his face. The back of my skull connects with his nose, and once again stars and colored spots dance in my vision. Yelping, I press a hand to the back of my head, watching as he stumbles backward, his hand clutching his nose.

That step back puts some space between us, and, the pain in my head forgotten, I slam my foot between his legs.

His high-pitched yell echoes around the empty lot as he crumples to his knees, his hands clutching his crotch. "F-fucking bitch," he spits, rolling onto his side.

The urge to sink my foot into him again is there, but the pain in my head and the thumping of adrenaline through my veins has me fumbling for my keys instead.

I don't know how I make it home.

I can't remember the drive, only the thunder of the blood in my head and against my cheekbone. My legs scream as I climb the stairs two by two, my hands shaking and the side of my face feeling swollen and painful. A woman from the floor below mine pushes past me in the stairwell.

"Hey, watch it!"

By the time I reach my apartment, my legs are like jelly and every step feels like a mountain. But i'm so close. So close to safety.

I just make it to the kitchen sink before I throw up. Again and again my stomach rolls. My knees wobble and I have to brace myself against the counter.

"Bella?"

The kitchen is flooded with light as the bedroom door opens behind me. I wipe a hand across my mouth and then rest my hands on either side of the sink, breathing deeply, waiting for the nausea to go away.

Edward's warm hand is on my back a second later. "You okay?"

With a shaking hand, I brush the hair from my neck, sweeping it to the side. I turn around to face him, and even in the dim light I see the color drain from his face. His hands lift to my face, his touch unsure but gentle, his eyes assessing.

"I…"

I don't know what to say.

"Who did this to you?" he asks, his tone dark like an approaching thunderstorm. "Was it Marcus?"

I shake my head, my bottom lip quivering.

"Someone at the club?"

I shake my head again.

"Tell me, Bella," he hisses. "Tell me who it was."

"I don't know who he was," I reply quietly, my voice wobbling. Just talking sends a jolt of pain through my face. "He was just some guy. He cornered me in the parking lot."

Edward's entire body tenses as he catalogues every inch of my body, hands fluttering nervously over my stomach and hips. "Did he…"

"No."

Silent, Edward's brows draw together tightly as he looks down at me. "Tell me what happened," he says quietly, his thumb brushing against my cheek gently.

Unable to look at him, I tell him everything. The guilt feels so thick on my tongue my mouth feels full of it. Every word I say is laced with it, drowning in it.

"I wanted to tell you," I say afterward, my hand resting on his. "I just didn't want you to worry. I thought it would be okay."

Stepping away from me, he pulls his hand from beneath mine.

He presses the palm of his right hand to his eye, his jaw set tight. Instantly, every lie and every stupid thing I've done feels like they're filling my bones, weighing me down.

When Edward shifts his hand away from his face, his expression is carefully blank. The wheels are spinning inside his head, and whatever he's thinking is carefully hidden away from me. I've seen it before, but never like this. This is palpable; a real living thing coiled up inside his muscles, the only hint of its presence the gentle tremors shaking his hands, and the _tick, tick, tick_ of his jaw muscles.

Even from across the room, where he paces back and forth across the linoleum, the tension in his arms is visible, his muscles coiling beneath his skin.

The thumping of the blood against my skin feels like a jackhammer. With the adrenalin gone, my body is running on empty, every muscle limp and shaking.

Edward takes a series of big, deep breaths. His jaw shifts as the muscles on either side flex.

"Edward—"

When his fist connects with the wall in the kitchen I jump—even though I see it coming.

The second blow causes a crack to appear in the drywall, and it's not until there are dots of blood on the wall that he stops.

"Fuck," he whispers, shaking his hand once.

"Edward," I say again, my voice raspy. "Stop."

His shoulders sag, and finally, after what feels like an eternity of silence, he turns to me, his expression softening.

Without a word, he walks to the freezer and pulls out a bag of frozen peas. Silent, he wraps them in a dishcloth and comes to stand in front of me, his head ducking a little as he presses the compress to my cheek. I flinch at the touch of the ice bag, and his hand comes to rest on my other cheek, cupping my head softly. He shakes his head, his expression tight, pulling me close and wrapping me in his arms. The weight of him around me makes me feel like I can finally breathe again.

"I'm sorry," I say quietly.

Edward doesn't answer.

"I'm so sorry."

Sighing, Edward says, "I know."

I rest my head against his chest.

"This isn't over," he whispers, his arms tightening around me. "We're going to talk about this, and you're going to tell me everything."

I nod.

His hand runs the length of my back slowly in long, soothing strokes. "I'm really fucking angry right now."

I nod again.

I don't know how long we stand there, but after a while Edward reaches down, linking his hand with mine.

"Come on."

Silent, Edward leads me into the bathroom, where—very slowly—he peels my layers of clothing off, dropping them at our feet. The muscles in my neck and shoulders ache, and the pulse of the blood behind my swollen eye is so painful I want to cry.

When I'm in nothing but my underwear, Edward cups my cheeks gently, lifting my gaze to his.

He kisses me softly. Chastely. Tenderly.

Tears roll down my cheeks, silent, mixing with the taste of him. I try not to feel Alec's hands on me when I close my eyes, but still my skin prickles with fear.

As if he senses this, Edward pulls away, thumbs brushing the tears from my chin, where they threaten to fall farther.

Shivering, I wait as Edward starts the shower.

"Get in," he says.

My muscles ache so much all I can do is stand there and let the hot water run over my body. Thankfully, a few minutes later Edward slides the curtain across, turns the taps off, and helps me out gently.

Still shivering and damp, Edward walks me into the bedroom.

Reaching over his head, he tugs his shirt off before holding it out for me to slip my arms through. He turns away as I drop the towel, allowing me a moment to slide his shirt on. It falls to mid-thigh, warm from his skin.

"In," he demands, gesturing to the bed.

Wobbly-kneed, I flip back the sheets and slide in.

Ink ripples and shifts as Edward toes his shoes off at the end of the bed, his jeans sitting low, exposing the fine hipbones that, even now, beg me to touch them. He slides into bed beside me and, as if we're drawn together like magnets, his skin finds mine beneath the sheets.

I close my eyes, basking in the feeling of familiarity, the feeling of safety in his arms.

"Talk to me," he whispers as my eyes drift shut.

I frown, my head already filling with sleep pictures, my body singing as my muscles relax. "I'm so tired."

His fingers brush over my cheekbone. "I know. But I need you to stay awake just a little longer."

Sighing, I reach for his fingers, kissing them gently before closing my fist around them. "What do you want to know?"

He's silent for a moment. "Tell me about when Emmett was born."

Even though I'm so tired and overwhelmed I want to cry, I can't help but smile. "Emmett Charles Swan was born on a Thursday night, three weeks premature." I stifle a yawn, hiding my gaping mouth behind my hand.

"He made it out okay?" asks Edward.

"Perfect," I reply. "I went into labor at two in the morning. Just about scared my dad to death."

"What was your dad's name?"

"Charlie."

"Ah. Charles. So, you scared the pants off of Charlie. Then what?"

"The hospital." I slur. "The rest is kind of a blur." My eyes feel like lead weights are drawing them shut. "One minute I was pushing and the next there's a little boy in my arms, staring up at me."

Edward chuckles once. "Did he cry?"

"No," I say with a tiny shake of my head. "But Charlie did. Like a baby."

We're both quiet for a moment, and then his lips press against my cheek. "Stay with me, Bella. Wake up, please."

I suck in a big breath, trying to peel open my eyes. "Emmett looked up at me with those blue eyes and I knew I'd never love another human being that much. Quietest baby they'd ever had, the nurses said. They kept watching him all night, waiting for him to cry, but he didn't." Edward smiles, looking almost proud. "Not once."

"What did Emmett's father say when you told him about Emmett?"

"Eric? He said okay."

"Okay?"

I nod. "He said 'okay,' and then he hung up."

"Idiot."

I manage a little smile. "Yeah."

The back of Edward's fingers brush across my cheek. "How are you feeling? Sore? Do you want more ice?"

"No. Just stay here with me. That's all I want."

His beard brushes the shell of my ear as he whispers, "I'm not going anywhere."

I reach for him, my lips seeking his.

Edward laughs, kissing me softly before pushing me back to rest. "Rest, Bella. I'll stay."

He does stay. All night. Waking me every few hours, asking me questions.

The moments between, where I find sleep, are filled with visions of what could have happened in that parking lot. But every time I wake, my heart racing and my head thumping, he's there.

Even in the early hours of the morning, as he sleeps beside me, he offers a kind of comfort I never knew I missed until it was right there. That encompassing feeling of being able to wrap myself up in him, to press my body against his and feel his skin against mine, the weight of him beside enough to chase away the bad dreams.

I just have to hope when he wakes he still feels the same.

* * *

Edward is sitting on the side of the bed when I wake, his back to me, his elbows on his knees. His long fingers bend and crack, the knuckles popping, the tendons stretching. It amazes me that even after such a short period of time his shape can be so familiar to me. The way his shoulders slope gently, the curve of his spine, the long, gentle arch of his neck. I feel like I know it all, and would know it all with my eyes closed.

"Edward?"

His head turns slightly and he looks at me over his shoulder, his face troubled.

I sit up, my knees bent beneath the sheet.

He turns back to the window, and he's silent for a moment, lost in thought. I leave him be, allowing him the time to gather whatever thoughts he has tumbling around his head.

"I don't know…" He stops, his long fingers finding the hair at the nape of his neck. He smoothes a hand down the back of his head. "You went to that apartment last night knowing what could happen. You know exactly what Marcus is like and you walked in there anyway."

"I thought I could handle it," I say, pressing a palm to my face. "I thought I could just get in and get out."

Standing, Edward shakes his head. He slips his shirt on over his head, running a hand over his hair before slipping a baseball cap on.

I sigh. "The money was too good to pass up, Edward. God knows I need it right now."

He considers his next words carefully. "And was it worth it?"

I'm silent with guilt, and the shame rolls over me like a wave, its weight crushing. Nothing is worth being treated like I was.

"No," I whisper.

"Momma!"

Emmett runs in, his clothes already on, ready for a day at preschool. His blond hair has been combed over, styled perfectly.

"Did Edward do your hair?" I ask as he crawls into my lap.

Emmett nods. "Yeah. And now he's driving me to school in his car. How cool is that?"

Cupping his cheeks in my hands, I kiss both of them. "So cool."

A concerned crease appears between Emmett's brows, and his small hand lifts to touch my cheek gently. "Why do you have an oops, Momma? Did you fall?"

I nod. "Yeah, I fell over. But I'm okay, it doesn't hurt."

"Do you need me to get you the pictures?"

"No," I reply with a smile. "I don't even need a Band-Aid. Hey, have you brushed your teeth?"

He shakes his head. "You want me to kiss your oops better before I go to school?"

"Yes, please. Just be gentle." I point to my cheek and turn a little, waiting for a kiss.

Leaning in slowly, Emmett places feather-soft a kiss on my cheek and then bounces off the bed to the bathroom. Through it all, Edward stands by quietly, his hands tucked beneath his arms, his expression now a little softer than it was earlier.

"I didn't think I had another choice," I say quietly, watching Emmett across the hall. "After the break in, and with Emmett's birthday, not to mention the loans and credit cards and the rent going up this month…things are bad at the diner, and I didn't know what else to do."

Edward sighs, his frustration palpable. "I know that, but I can't…I don't…" He looks down, staring intently at the floor by his feet. "I don't know why you can't just let me help you."

"Because I can do this, Edward." I wince as a shot of pain shoots across my cheek. I press a hand to my face, swallowing through my shame. "It's not forever; it's just until I find something better. Safer."

Jaw clenched tight, Edward clasps his hands behind his head. "I swear, Bella, if I find out who did this to you I'll kill them. I can't sleep knowing that whoever hurt you like this is out there."

"Edward…"

He looks at his red knuckles, the skin broken and bloody. He licks his lips, finally looking up at me. "You make me crazy. I can barely stand to be near you without wanting to touch you. I can't think. I can't eat. I barely sleep. Just the thought of someone hurting you keeps me awake at night."

Tucking my hair behind one ear, I watch as he tugs on the collar of his T-shirt, his shoulders flexing.

"But you can't make me sit by and watch you hurt yourself like this."

He steps forward tentatively, coming to rest on the bed in front of me. "I know that you know this already, but last night could have been so much worse. When I think of what could have happened…" He drops his head into his hand, his fingers pressing hard into his closed eyes. "A black eye is nothing."

I scoot toward him, resting my cheek against his shoulder. "I know. And I wish I could adequately explain how stupid and ashamed I feel for going to that party. I should never have trusted Marcus, no matter how scared I was."

We sit, quiet for a moment.

"I wish I could be better for you," I say. "I wish I could be the girl that makes smart decisions and who doesn't have this mess of a life."

"Bella—"

"And I know I keep a lot from you, Edward, and that I'm stubborn and pig-headed, and that I probably don't tell you enough how grateful I am for everything you do, but…I'm drowning here. I feel like I'm drowning and you and Emmett are the only things keeping me afloat right now."

Sighing, Edward leans toward me, tucking me into his side until I'm wrapped up in him.

"I've got you," he whispers.

There's so much more I want to tell him, so much more I want to say.

"Can we go yet, Edward?" Emmett whines from the doorway, his timing perfect as always. "I brushded my teeth."

For the first time all morning, Edward smiles. It's small—a little quirk at the corner of his mouth—but it's there.

"Yeah, dude. Let's go."

Emmett fist-pumps the air. "Bye, Momma. See you later!"

I laugh, and Edward leans in to press a kiss to my cheek quickly. "I'll be right back," he says. "And you and me, we're going to have a talk."

* * *

**Wink x**


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

**Chapter Twenty-One**

* * *

The front door clicks shut, leaving the apartment quiet.

He should leave me. Run far, far away. God. The guy should have left me months ago.

But he didn't.

He won't.

I don't know how I know, but I do.

In the wake of the horrific events of the night before, with a bruised body and my emotional state even more fragile, I feel… awake. Like someone has poured ice-cold water over me.

As awful as it was, what happened with Alec was like a slap in the face.

A wakeup call.

Edward is right; I can't keep doing this. Not to myself, and certainly not to Emmett.

Throwing back the bed sheets, I jump into the shower quickly, scrubbing off the filth of the night before, and then call Pete at the diner. I feel awful, especially knowing that it means another day without pay, but I'm so tired I can feel it all the way down to my bones. Not to mention that a black eye would raise all sorts of questions I really don't want to answer.

Wiping the steam from the mirror, I turn my face in the bathroom light, checking the bruise that covers my cheekbone. The skin is still swollen and red, and there are already patches of dark purple and blue showing beneath my eye and across my cheek. I touch it gingerly, hissing at the pain that lances through my face as I do. Dressed in my towel, I walk to the freezer to grab another bag of peas to help with the inflammation.

Edward arrives just as I'm wrapping the frozen pack in a kitchen towel.

He stands inside the front door, his keys still in his hands, and my fingers tighten around the towel as his eyes travel up my bare legs. I can feel my hair dripping water down my back and over my shoulders, but it's the heat in Edward's eyes that makes me shiver.

A grin creeps across his face, the architecture of his face drawing my eyes to him like a magnet. "Go put some clothes on," he says, tossing his keys on the table beside him.

I press the peas to my cheek and slip quietly back into the bedroom. I dress in a sweater and leggings, and tie my wet hair up and off my shoulders. The smell of coffee draws me out of the bedroom, and by the time I come out Edward is sitting at the kitchen table, two steaming mugs of fresh coffee in front of him.

He sits up as I enter, his mug clasped between his hands. He nods his head toward the seat beside him. "Sit."

Tucking my legs beneath me, I sit cross-legged on the kitchen chair across from him.

"How are you feeling?"

I shrug, blowing across the top of my coffee. "Fine, I guess. A little bruised and battered, a sore head, but otherwise fine."

Edward's long fingers slide around his mug. "You want to talk to the police?"

My head shakes instantly and painfully. "I don't want the police involved. I just…" I think of Marcus. Of Leah. Of what would happen if I went to the police. "…don't."

Edward doesn't seem fazed. I watch his thumbs skim the side of the coffee cup, his face pensive. "Okay," he says finally. "I get that."

"But?"

"But, like I said, I can't keep watching you go out there and hurt yourself like this. You have to do something, Bella. About Marcus. About the club."

I take a big gulp of hot coffee, the bright, clean, clear feeling from earlier dimming slightly.

"If you don't, I will."

I watch as his long hands brush the surface of the table, collecting the crumbs from Emmett's breakfast. "Don't be stupid, Edward. He'd kill you."

Edward tilts his head gently. "He wouldn't."

I roll my eyes.

"Look," Edward says. "I get that you want to provide for yourself. And I know you have this crazy stubborn streak when it comes to doing it on your own… believe me, I know. I respect that, I do. But I want to help."

"How can you help me any more than you have already?"

"Bella," he says, his shoulders straightening as his patience wanes. "I know you're not dumb enough to think that I couldn't help you if you needed it. And you know I would do anything for that kid—for both of you. But I can't sit here with my hands tied because you're too scared and stubborn to do anything."

His words sting, and the petulant, defensive Bella rears her ugly head.

"What am I supposed to do? Let you go in there guns blazing like some knight in shining armor? The last girl that stood up to Marcus went missing, Edward. My one and only friend in this world disappeared off the face of the earth because she dared to speak up!" My heart squeezes painfully for Leah. "I can't risk loosing you. I can't risk Marcus coming after the people I love because of me."

Edward lifts his hand, pointing a finger. "One; you don't have to worry about me. Marcus doesn't scare me, and if he knew who the fuck he was dealing with he'd think twice before coming anywhere near you. Two; if he came within twenty feet of Emmett I would kill him with my bare hands. I promise you that."

"So what do I do? Ask him nicely? Tell him my boyfriend is angry with him?"

Edward pauses, tucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

"You need to leave, but you need to do it the right way."

"And how's that?"

"I know this guy—he's a good friend of mine—he knows a lot of people around the city, people who could get you work—don't look at me like that—real work, where you don't have to put up with this shit."

"Okay, I hate to burst your chivalrous bubble, but I actually like dancing. I like the job, I just hate the bullshit that comes with it."

Edward nods in understanding. "I know. I didn't mean it like that, Bella. If you want to dance I'm not going to stop you. I know that you're scared to leave, but this guy… his family… you wouldn't need to worry about Marcus. Ever again."

My eyes narrow. "Who is this guy you're talking about? A friend?" Edward rests back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why do I feel like you're not telling me everything?"

"Because," Edward says with a reluctant smile. "You know me too well. You also know that whatever I'm not saying I'm not saying for a good reason."

We both sit in silence as I think over his words.

My first instinct is fear, the ever-present cold itch that sits low in my stomach rears its ugly head. But here, sitting just feet from the only person in the world I can feel safe with, I somehow find the ability to swallow the feeling down.

"I can't believe I'm here again." I cover my face with my hands for a moment, chuckling dryly into them. "No matter how hard I try, I can't pull myself out of this bullshit."

Staring down into my coffee, I take the two seconds I need to weigh up my options.

"I'll meet your friend," I say. "I'll hear what he has to say. That's all I can do for now."

Edward smiles just a little, nodding. "That's all I need."

Sighing, I let my head roll forward. I look up at him from beneath the curtain of hair that's fallen over my forehead. "Good. Can I go back to bed now?"

"Back to bed?" he asks, an eyebrow arches.

Reaching overhead, I stretch long and hard all the way down to my toes. "I'm still exhausted. I can't remember the last time I was home alone. I feel like I want to sleep for a thousand years."

Edward rubs an open hand across his mouth, revealing a smile as it slides down his beard. "How's your head?"

"Fine," I reply, reaching up to touch the spot beneath my eye. "It just hurts to touch."

"No headache or anything?"

I shake my head.

Edward stands abruptly, his half-full coffee cup forgotten as he reaches for me. I look up at him from my seat, intertwining my fingers with his as he helps me stand.

"Where are we going? What—"

Edward turns, kicking the bedroom door open with his foot, and my heart leaps into my throat.

I don't know how it escaped my notice, but when I instinctively turn to seek out Emmett, I remember almost immediately that we're alone.

Alone.

In my apartment.

Very much on our own.

The way Edward looks at me tells me it hasn't escaped him, in fact there's a distinct possibility that he's two steps ahead of me already. His green eyes burn, but as realization dawns on me he laughs, his head thrown back, his eyes crinkled at the side. I can't help but laugh along.

"What are you laughing at?"

"You look like a deer in the headlights." Edward grins, his warm hands brushing my arms. "Relax."

But my heart continues to flutter, my pulse racing. Just the warmth of Edward's hands on my skin sends a shot of heat to my core. But I'm not nervous—I'm excited.

Still smiling that radiant smile of his, Edward presses his forehead to mine. "Bella," he whispers, my name like a prayer from his lips. "Relax."

I reach up, my hands finding his cheeks. His eyes close as I scratch the rough skin beneath his beard, and pull him to me, his lips to mine—the fire that burns for him igniting.

His fingers skim my collarbone as he walks me back toward the bed. "I don't know if I've ever told you this, but you're incredibly beautiful, you know that?"

Looking down, I shake my head. "I'm… I'm in leggings and a sweatshirt, Edward." I touch my bare face. My damp hair that has no doubt turned to a rat's nest. "I'm a mess."

Holding my hand in his, Edward tucks it against his chest. He glances up at me through a set of unfairly long lashes. "You're beautiful."

"How did I get so lucky?" I whisper, shaking my head.

Edward laughs, eyes sparkling. "I ask myself the same thing every goddamn day."

Lifting up on to my tiptoes, I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him close. "How 'bout you stop talking and take me to bed?"

Edward's smile softens from playful to sexy, his green eyes on me as he strips away my clothes slowly. Even as his eyes drift from head to toe I don't feel self conscious in front of him. Every stretch mark and lump, every dip of my small frame—I own every last bit. I don't need to be wearing my heels and thong to feel sexy, the way I feel when Edward presses me onto the bed makes me feel beautiful—cherished.

"Do you remember that first night, when I told you I didn't want anything from you?"

His lips pull a moan from my mouth. His fingers draw a shudder from me.

"I lied," he whispers, making my thighs clench. "I want everything."

His facial hair grazes my chest as he trails kisses down my chest, my back arching as he takes my nipple into his mouth. His lips are soft, his tongue gentle, but when he grazes his teeth against the peak my body tightens and my skin pebbles. Edward chuckles throatily as I pull his mouth back my to breast, my fingers threaded through his hair.

He whispers something against my skin and I moan in reply, my fingers tightening in his hair.

We take our time, discovering each other, until finally we're both stripped bare, skin against skin, hearts beating in time.

Settling his weight between my legs, Edward sighs into my neck. "I want this to be good for you." I shudder as the heat of his breath meets my skin. "But I don't know if I can…" His voice cracks and his hands tighten on my hips as I lift them toward him. "I didn't think you'd feel this good."

His honesty makes me smile.

"Let me," I say, pressing my hands gently against his chest.

Edward sits back a little, looking down at me. "Let you what?"

Smiling, I continue to push his chest until he gets the idea. "Let me give you everything."

As I straddle his hips, my thighs pressed against his warm skin, Edward sighs beneath me, my body sinking ever so slightly into his breath. I press my lips to his throat and the ink there, watching as the colored skin flutters with the beat of his heart. I kiss the intricate tattoo on his neck, all the way from the dip between his collarbones to the spot beneath each ear. His hands tighten around my hips and he groans when I tuck his earlobe between my teeth, tugging gently.

"You're killing me," he whispers, turning his head to capture my mouth with his. His strong hands cradle my head as he kisses me deeply. His lips are gentle but insistent. He kisses the corner of my mouth and my jaw, and as one hand slides down my back he kisses a line down my neck.

"Bella," he whispers, and something about it sounds almost reverent, like he's savoring the word, tasting it.

As I position myself above him and push down slightly he sucks in a breath, his chest flaring until I see his ribs. He groans, his back arching as I sink down slowly. It feels foreign for a moment, like an invasion, but as quickly as I feel it it's gone, and all I can feel is the perfect fit of Edward stretching and filling me.

We take it slow, our movements unhurried and gentle. Even though he's letting me control the pace, every move Edward makes is like it's for me, like he's loving me.

He watches. He likes to watch.

With his hands wrapped around my thighs and my fingers pressed where we're joined, he never takes his eyes off me as he takes control, hips and hands moving in sync to push me over the edge.

My body feels like jelly as Edward turns us over once more, my limbs soft and my body still tingling as the final shudders of my orgasm ripple through me.

Edward's weight feels perfect between my thighs, his hipbones pressing against my thighs like he's meant to be there. He groans as I slide my fingers up and into his hair. "Jesus Christ," he hisses, his jaw tense and his brow creased as he searches for his own end.

He comes a moment later, his eyes finally sliding close, his back tensing and his breath hot on my neck. My name easing from his lips as his hands tighten around mine.

We fall asleep tangled in each other. Daylight beaming through my bedroom window, our legs intertwined, my skin imprinted with his kisses and our love.

"I love you," I whisper, watching his lids slide closed.

The last twenty-four hours have been a roller coaster of emotions, and while the attack still weighs heavily on me, there's no mistaking the reason my heart beats so hard in this moment. All I can hear is the beat of my heart, pumping hard against my ribs like I've run a race.

Love.

It pumps through my veins and radiates from my skin.

I can feel it coming from somewhere deep inside, its warmth seeping into my limbs from fingers to toes.

I can feel it curl itself around every cell in my body, wrapping itself around every thought, intensifying with each breath.

I feel like it's written all over my face. It echoes through the beat of my heart and the pulse of the blood in my veins. I'm almost sure he can hear it. Even though it hurts to smile, I can't stop. Nothing could stop me. I'm like a star burning through the night sky—brilliant and luminous.

The sun has nothing on me today.

A large warm hand slides down my lower back and over the curve of my backside. His lids flutter open a fraction, and his lips twitch with a smile.

"I love you, too."

* * *

My body feels as if it weighs two hundred pounds, like I might actually sink right through the bed. I like it. I feel sated and warm, and when I shift a little the ache that blossoms between my legs reminds me why I'm feeling this way.

A finger, a single, rough-padded finger, drifts slowly up the dip in my spine, followed closely by a warm mouth, soft lips, and a rush of goosebumps. He kisses each of the processes of my spine, stopping at the base of my neck, and I can feel his breath washing over my skin. Too afraid that I'm dreaming, I keep my eyes shut, basking in the heat of his body against mine as his weight presses down from behind, his hips nestled between my legs, his hands pressed between my hipbones and the bed as he lifts me to meet him.

The ache between my legs intensifies for a moment, but not enough to stop, and the moment I feel Edward's fingers slide between me and the mattress the pain subsides. All I can feel is my skin beginning to heat and my blood singing in my veins.

We make love like we have all the time in the world.

For the briefest of moments I imagine another time and place. A little house somewhere. Car parts and tools in a long dusty driveway. Swing set out back and a creaky porch door.

We make love there isn't a world outside to go back to.

"Can we just pause time for a moment?" I whisper, the sun warming my back as it streams through the bedroom window.

Edward grunts a response, his eyes flickering a little beneath closed lids.

I smile, wondering if I can count each of his dark lashes.

"I messed up your hair," I say with a giggle, trying to flatten down the dark auburn hair that sticks up on the back of his head.

Edward's hand appears, trying to smooth the hair down. I hide my laugh in my pillow.

"Can I ask you a question?" I ask a moment later.

Edward grunts again.

"How did you get into… whatever it is you do?"

Inhaling, Edward eyes open slowly. I can see him contemplate my question, his green eyes clearing. After a few moments, he tucks an inked arm beneath his pillow and licks his lips.

God I love his lips.

"I grew up near here," he begins, voice raspy with sleep. "Small town outside the city. Good family, good education, bright future... stupid kid." He smiles. "I got mixed up with the wrong people. Fell into trouble real quick."

"That old chestnut, huh? What kind of trouble?"

Sighing, Edward rolls onto his back. "Got into fights with the wrong guys. Borrowed money from the wrong people." He laughs, rubbing a hand across his jaw. "Chose the wrong girls to take home."

Jealousy flares deep in my chest, but I shove it away somewhere dark.

"Anyway, one night I got into it with a bunch of guys. You know, real bad guys, the kind that don't care if you're just some young, dumb kid. Almost put me in hospital" He snorts. "Probably would have ended up dead if Jasper hadn't rolled in and saved my backside."

I prop my head up onto my hand. "Is Jasper the friend you were talking about earlier?"

Edward nods once. "Jasper works for his uncle—kind of a family business, I guess. He helped me sort my shit out and get it together. He got me a job working with a friend of his at the garage, and in turn I help him out when I can. Whatever he needs."

"So… you're like, his hired muscle? And he works for the Mob, or something?"

Rubbing a finger over my bridge of his nose, he nods. "Or something."

"So that's why you couldn't say anything? You're connected to some, like, _family?_"

Edward sighs. "They're like a second family to me. I owe them a lot."

"Enough to warrant black eyes and busted knuckles?" I joke.

Sitting up to bring us face to face, Edward leans in for a kiss. "You want late breakfast? My treat."

I roll my eyes. "I guess that means question time is over, huh?"

Edward slips from the sheets, sliding his underwear over his hips.

"You know I'm going to find out all about you one day."

Edward smiles at me over his shoulder, his back rippling as he slides his shirt on.

"One day I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Smiling, I tuck the sheets up under my arms. I add the Jasper connection to my Edward puzzle, tucking it away safely. Of course I want to know more, but something tells me he'll open up to me when he's ready.

"Come on," he says, reaching for my hand. "You've worn me out and made me work up an appetite. The least you could do is keep me company."

* * *

**Rach, Rach and Kitty betad and pre-read. And then I fiddled around with it, so all errors are mine. **

**Enormous thank you from the bottom of my heart to any one (or that one person) who nominated The Fall in the TwiFic Fandom Awards. It's been nominated for Drop Everything Fic, Potential Best Seller and Favourite My Emotions Fic. It's too much. Really. To be nominated has been wonderful and startling to say the least. Thank you is not enough. **

**Much love, Wink x**


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

* * *

Jasper.

I roll his name around in my head.

Edward thinks this guy is the key to everything, the key to my freedom from this place.

Three days seems like three years when you're waiting for salvation. But if meeting Jasper is the first step on a new path, then three days is nothing. A heartbeat.

Dread fills my veins as I look up at the neon sign.

The only reason I'm here, the only reason I dragged myself away from the safety of my apartment was to keep from arousing any suspicion. Who knows how long it will be until I can pull myself free? The only thing I can do right now is keep my head down and my eyes open.

Once I step into a pair of thigh-high stockings, it doesn't take long for the veneer to slip effortlessly into place, for Rose open her eyes once more.

She belongs in a place like this, under hazy stage lights and the veil of anonymity.

I don't.

And tonight, beneath a painted face, it's like a layer of skin has been peeled back, and beneath it I'm goddamn brand new.

I finally see that even though I love to dance, to feel wanted and desired, that Blush is no longer the glamorous, razzle-dazzle utopia I once thought it was. I see it now for what it really is: filled to the brim with this city's filth—the men who think they run this town like it's a toy to be played with. A den fuelled by power and blood money, a place where a fistful of hundreds can buy you anything you desire.

Tia smiles at me as I step off stage. "Got the whole place eating outta your palm."

I am the queen of this filthy place.

The music continues to thump around us, the air filled with the smell of seduction and money, greed and power. "Well, as long as they put the bills in my hand, I don't care what they do," I admit with a forced smile.

Tia gives me a look that says _tell me about it_. "Right? Like, if you could stop telling me how pretty I am and tip me, that would be great. Some of these guys are all talk and no action."

I nod, wishing myself back to the time when I was as clueless as Tia is.

"Oh, I almost forgot, you have Tyler in three," she yells over the noise around us. "Hey, did you hear about Tania?"

Tania's name snaps me out of my morose inner monologue. The last I saw of her she was watching as a handsome banker slipped one hand into my bra as the other stuffed a hundred dollar bill into my underwear.

Just her name makes my blood simmer.

"What about her?"

Tia's hands dance in the air between us. "She's disappeared."

"What? Since when?"

"A few of the guys said no one's seen her for a few days now. Not since Thursday or something."

Thursday. The same night I saw her.

"You think she left?" I ask, popping a piece of gum into my mouth.

Tia shrugs, adjusting her corset top. Her breasts bounce and jiggle. "Maybe."

Her voice says yes, but her face says no because she and I both know Tania would never leave Marcus.

The music changes, and she's called onto stage. "They're all yours now," I say, gesturing to the club full of men waiting for her, salivating, panting.

Ready.

* * *

Heels dangling from my fingers, I smile down at my phone, reading the text messages from Edward throughout the night. They're far from romantic poems, but just knowing he's thinking of me is enough.

I push the door to the locker room open, and a girlish yelp startles me, snatching my attention from my phone. Stick-thin legs balance on sky-high heels, her pale, pink-tinted skin translucent beneath the locker room lighting.

"Alice?"

She crosses her arms over her chest, looking down at her feet. She doesn't say anything as I step into the room, just shuffles farther away from the lockers, her eyes averted.

"What are you doing?"

My hand drops to my side as I take in the open door of my locker and my purse lying on the floor, its contents strewn across the cold cement. Tightening her arms across her thin torso, she shrugs. With a sniff Alice lifts her head, her bloodshot eyes finding mine. I wait for an answer, but when she simply looks at me like she doesn't care, I step closer. Alice flinches, stepping back, and every ounce of anger I have at her slips away.

Because this is Alice, the girl from some tiny place down south who probably has family who miss her and some love-struck boyfriend still waiting for her to come home. The girl is twenty going on forty and has seen too much and not done enough. This city has torn all of the goodness out of her.

"It's okay," I say quietly, holding out a hand. "Was…do you need something?"

She lifts a hand to push her dark hair out of her eyes. "Was seeing if you had a tampon"—she sniffs again—"you know, that time of the month."

Alice shifts from one foot to the other as she watches me bend down to pick up my purse.

I want to say something but all I can do is stand there looking at this once beautiful young girl. This broken doll, slip of a thing, whose gaze darts around the room, whose nose is red and raw, whose once sparkling eyes are now a dull and lifeless pale blue. I want to wrap her up and slap her and shake her and feed her.

She lifts her chin, her lips set into a stubborn line.

My palm opens for her, to her.

"Thanks," she snaps, snatching the tampon out of my hand.

"Alice."

I watch, helpless, as she teeters out of the locker room, slamming the door behind her.

I don't need to open my wallet to know there's fifty dollars missing.

* * *

"They got cameras back here?" says the guy with a smirk.

Squeezing his hand, I shrug gently. "'Course they do, honey. But it's just you and me in here, I promise."

"Right." He nods, smiling, his eyes making lazy passes over my chest. "Goddamn, you're the prettiest stripper I've ever seen."

I smile over my shoulder at him, thinking that with a face like his, a hot stripper is about as lucky as he's ever going to get. As drunk as he is, he keeps his hands to himself and spends a lot of money.

"Can you…" He swallows, palming himself through his jeans.

"Can I what, sweetheart?" I ask, rolling my hips seductively.

"Can you take your shoes off?"

I laugh a little. "Oh. Sure."

My arches and calves sigh as I slip my shoes off. "Better?" I ask, lifting a bare foot onto the seat beside him.

He nods, and I continue, keeping my bare feet as close to him as I can. I figure a little barefoot action is worth a little more, right?

"Give me your shoe," he says, eyeing my stiletto on the floor.

"O-okay."

The glitter-covered shoe sits gently in his palm for a moment, his eyes moving between it and me.

"You're so fucking hot," he says, and to be honest I'm not sure who he's talking to: me or the shoe. Lost for words, I try to maintain a semi-professional manner as he drags his tongue up the heel before sucking it into his mouth, his eyes still on me.

"You don't want me to clean that for you, hun?" I ask, leaning into his lap.

He shakes his head. "I like it dirty."

This time I can't help it, I laugh just a little. "You sure do."

It's always the ones who seem so normal who come up with something completely out of left field. Freaks come in all shapes and sizes, I guess.

* * *

Between weird shoe-licker guy and everything else that's going on, my thoughts bounce from one place to another all night. Tania. Alice. Leah. Marcus. Edward. Emmett—a thousand thoughts spinning out of control.

"Bella? In here."

My heart leaps at the sound of Marcus' voice. I'd been hoping to avoid him for the night, but I guess that's just not going to happen.

"Close the door."

The lights in his office are dim, but even in the low light I can tell he's not his usual calm and collected self. Tonight his hair is a mess and the collar of his shirt is open, as if he's being tugging at it violently. His jaw slides from side to side, and even though he's sitting, it's like he can't stay still, his hands moving, fingers tapping, jaw grinding.

"I need you to work another private party next week."

"No."

He slides a palm over his sweaty forehead, slipping it back into his hair. "I'm sorry?"

"I said no."

Marcus' smile fades, and the muscles in his jaw still for a moment as he looks at me over his desk. It's so quiet I can hear the clock on the wall ticking.

"Okay," he says with a shrug.

I'm almost too stunned to answer. "You… don't mind?"

"I said okay, didn't I?"

A cold finger of fear slips down my spine. I open my mouth to reply, but Marcus turns, rifling through papers on his desk, dismissing me.

* * *

"You got big plans tomorrow night?"

Tia tosses me back my deodorant, which I slip into my bag before zipping it up. "No. Nothing special, why?"

"You have the weekend off. I figured you and Mystery Guy must have a fun weekend planned."

I shake my head, ignoring her blatant probing. "I don't have the weekend off." Standing, I shoulder my bag. "Do I?"

Tightening her ponytail, Tia shrugs. "Check the roster, babe. I might have been wrong, but I could have sworn you weren't on there for tomorrow or Sunday night."

That cold point of fear than had slithered down my spine earlier digs its claws in, and that nasty vindictive voice in the back of my head says _"you knew this would happen."_

Sure enough, the roster for the following two nights has been changed, and I've been crossed off for the entire weekend. With the house share of my tips and bar takings in my hand, I knock quietly on the office door. He's in there, Petey said as much. Still, he makes me wait.

I watch as each of the girls leaves for the night, or morning as it were. Passing me, Tia rests a hand on my shoulder. "You want me to wait?" she asks, anxious eyes peering over my head at the office door.

I debate it for a moment, but shake my head anyway. It's after four in the morning, and she has a little one to get home to. Plus, even though he thinks he's hidden in shadow, Pete's waiting by the back door, waiting to give Tia a ride home.

The office door opens just as Tia and Pete disappear.

"Make it quick," says Marcus, throwing his jacket on.

"You took me off the roster this weekend?"

Marcus pats his pockets, his head swiveling as he searches for something. "Got some girls coming from the Vegas club."

"Yeah, but…I need to work on the weekend. You know that."

He shrugs. "I need you to work a private party."

"That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair."

I have to snort. "You're going to talk to _me_ about life not being fair? Fuck you, Marcus."

He grins, running both hands through his dark hair. "What about this new boyfriend of yours, huh?" he says. "I'm sure he could give you money. What does he think of all this, anyway?"

"How did—"

He laughs, but rather than his usual maniacal sound, it's tired, bored almost. "You forget we have cameras everywhere, sweetheart. I saw your little moment the other week. It was touching. Really."

"Leave him out of this."

"I'm simply asking what your boyfriend thinks of your line of work. If he knows what you're willing to do for money." He smirks, shaking his head and looking me up and down. "Of course he does." A laugh edges its way into his voice. "I bet you're giving him and his buddies a real good deal."

"Shut up, Marcus. I swear—"

He's in my face so fast I barely have time to raise my hands in defense. He grips my throat tightly. Not tight enough to cut off the air, but tight enough that I know he could if he wanted to. "Or what? You'll quit? You'll get your boyfriend to come beat me up?" Tears well in my eyes as I try to pull his hand from my neck. "What are you going to do, Bella?" he spits, his voice rising. "Nothing. That's what you're gong to do. Because if you bring that shit down on me I'll knock those perfect teeth of yours down your fucking throat."

He shoves me so hard I stumble back, knocking my thigh against a table. Something clatters to the ground behind me.

Coughing a little as fresh air hits my lungs, I suck in a huge breath.

"Get your shit and get the fuck out of my office."

* * *

"Edward?"

His eyes flicker beneath pale eyelids, and his arms tighten around me gently.

"Can you tell your friend I'll meet him?" I whisper. "Tomorrow?"

He peels one eye open. "Tomorrow?" he rasps, surprised.

I nod.

After a moment he nods. "I'll set it up."

* * *

Jasper is already seated at the table when we arrive the next day, his phone in his hands, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses. He looks up as we near, two dimples forming as he smiles.

"Well, well," he says, standing to greet Edward and me. "You must be Bella."

Straightening my shoulders back, I nod, reaching for his hand. "I am."

His grin is sly but warm, the kind you can't help but return. "You didn't tell me she was so lovely, Edward."

Edward laughs. "I think I did, actually."

Jasper clasps Edward's hand tightly, the two of them embracing in that almost violent hug that only guys can do. "You look good," he says, slapping a hand on his shoulder.

The two of them share few quiet words as I sit, and I can tell by the pink tips on Edward's ears they're talking about me. Trying to hide a smile, he slides into the seat beside me. I give him a questioning look, which he erases with a kiss to the back of my hand.

Jasper looks surprised at the move, his eyebrows popping up over his sunglasses for just a breath.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Bella," says Jasper, leaning forward onto his elbows. He slips his glasses off and tosses them onto the table. "I've heard a lot about you. Well, as much as Edward can say a lot about anything, I suppose." His blue eyes sparkle in the midday sun.

It's my turn to blush. "Well," I say, pressing a cool hand to my cheek, trying to calm the flush. "I'd say the same about you, but Edward hasn't told me much."

Wrinkles appear at the corners of Jasper's eyes as he laughs. "No, I'd say he hasn't."

We're quiet a moment as the waitress deposits some water and menus on the table.

Dark blonde and thick-boned, Jasper is broad and muscular—imposing. There's no mistaking the undercurrent of authority that runs beneath his smiling exterior. The set of his shoulders, the arch of his brow as he looks at the menu—he's a man that's used to getting his own way. I don't imagine he's used to hearing the word "no."

We make small talk for a while; Jasper asks me more about Emmett, about my job. Our lunch arrives, a mountain of steak and sides and large sparkling glasses of wine. Laughing at something Jasper said, Edward drapes an arm over the back of my chair, his thumb brushing against my shoulder, and this is how it could be, this could be my life, this could be us.

I could be an us—a _we_.

My smile is barely hidden by the wine glass against my lips.

Of course, soon enough the conversation turns to our reason for being here. Jasper listens, fingers brushing idly through this beard, as I explain my situation—although from the look on his face he already knows most of it anyway.

"Marcus," Jasper says, stopping to take a thoughtful breath, a deep line forming between his brows. "He's an interesting guy, to say the least—a real piece of work. I should know since we grew up together. Somewhere along the line he's come to believe he's untouchable. That the rules don't apply to him anymore."

"So, he's an asshole with a superiority complex," I say.

Jasper grins knowingly, thumb and forefinger toying idly with his beard. "Exactly. And to be very honest, Bella, there are some of us who have been waiting for a good excuse to bring him down a peg or two. Show him that there are rules, and they're to be followed."

"Yeah, well, I'm a stripper. Assholes with superiority complexes I can deal with."

Jasper laughs.

"But it's when those assholes carry a gun and threaten my family that the game changes."

"I understand your concerns. I've heard enough from Edward, and I know Marcus well enough to know that you're walking a thin line." He frowns. "And don't be fooled, Bella Marcus would have you killed in a second if he thought you were in the way."

The three of us are quiet.

I take a huge gulp of my drink. It's not an easy thing to hear that you're expendable.

Jasper gives me a minute, pretending to look at the menu beneath his hands.

Edward doesn't bother with pretense. With hands clasped together tightly, he rests his elbows on the table. "We're going to make sure that doesn't happen." He turns to me. "He won't touch you again."

Jasper signals the waitress. "No, he won't. I can promise you that."

The waitress takes our orders, spending half the time looking at her notepad and the other half staring at Jasper.

But he hardly notices, waving her off the moment she's finished writing the order. "Thank you," he says with a smile. She mumbles a quiet answer and scampers off to the kitchen.

"I know Marcus makes it hard for his girls," continues Jasper. "And I know that while he talks a lot of shit, he's also not afraid to get a little dirty."

He glances at Edward for a moment, and then back to me.

"Edward tells me you think Marcus had something to do with a co-workers disappearance? Leah, was it?"

The pleasant wine buzz I'd been swimming in evaporates. "I think so."

Jasper and Edward are quiet, Jasper's thumb and forefinger capturing his bottom lip.

"Well, we did a little digging. Asked around."

My hand begins to shake so hard I have to put my glass down. Something about Jasper's expression tells me he knows exactly what happened to her, and now that I'm this close to finding out, I'm not sure I want to know.

Frowning, Jasper runs a finger over the white tablecloth, and it's then that I notice the eight black X's tattooed onto the back of his knuckles. Like a score. A tally.

"Part of my…job, if you could call it that, is to know when things like that happen. Marcus thought he was smart using someone out of town to do his dirty work, but as usual he fucked that up."

God. _Dirty work._ He makes it sound like nothing. Like taking out the garbage.

"So…Leah is…"

Jasper looks across the table at me sadly. "Buried out by Red Rocks. Outside Vegas."

I hadn't realized how much I'd been holding on to hope until the truth comes crashing down.

Dead.

Edward pulls me into his side, pressing his lips against my temple gently. "I'm sorry."

As nice as it is to have him close, the air around me suddenly feels stifling. My skin feels clammy and hot. I press a hand to his chest, gently pushing myself away, out of his orbit.

"Look." I stop, swallowing down two huge gulps of wine. "I'm not going to pretend to know what you do. To be honest, at this point I don't really care. But Edward seems to think you might know a way for me to get out of Blush without Marcus coming after me like he did Leah. I need to know if that's true."

"It's true."

I take a moment for Jasper's answer to settle in.

"I have a son. I won't do anything that puts him in danger."

"You won't."

"And there are others. Other girls."

Jasper's face softens in sympathy, and my heart breaks just a little more.

"I can only do so much, Bella. Short of shutting the club down and starting a war that would destroy the city and put people I love in danger, we need to be smart about this. I need to talk to some people I know first, but—"

"He knows where I live, Jasper. Where I work during the week. I have to assume he knows where Emmett goes to preschool. If I'm going to do this, I have to know that he's not going to come after me. That I won't have to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder."

Jasper leans forward, elbows on he tabletop. "I'm not going to lie to you—it won't be easy. The answer might mean giving up everything you know right now. But if you'll let me, I'll do everything I can to not only get you out of Blush, but to take Marcus down at the same time."

The hope that I had for an easy resolution ebbs at Jasper's words. This is bigger than I'd ever expected it to be.

"Everything you've done up until now has been for Emmett," says Edward quietly. "This is no different. I know you're scared, but this is for him as much as you."

"Give me some time," adds Jasper. "A week or so to sort a few things out, and then I promise we'll have something for you."

A week.

One week and I can walk out of Blush and never look back. Get my life back.

My head spins, trying its best to process and keep up. With the wine and the sun and all this new information it feels like it's about to start pouring out of my ears.

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"I wouldn't have asked you to come if you couldn't trust us, Bella," says Edward.

Jasper smiles. "She's right to ask though. Smart, too. I can see why you like her, Edward." He pauses as the waitress again stops by to fill our water glasses. Her flirting with both Edward and Jasper is not even close to subtle. "Essentially, I'm doing this because I'm a selfish man, Bella. Apart from the fact that removing Marcus from the picture makes good business sense for me"—he stops to smile lightly—"I'm doing this because Edward is like family to me. And my family look after their own."

"Must be nice to have family like that."

Edward's hand tightens on my shoulder.

"It is," says Jasper. "As you're about to find out."

* * *

Later that night, Emmett and I sit at the kitchen table as Edward unloads takeout.

"Can I sit on your lap, Momma?" asks Emmett from beside me. His fingers creep over the edge of the tabletop as he watches Edward.

"Hop up," I reply, scooting my chair back a little so he can climb into my lap.

Edward unpacks the delivery of Chinese, the smell of greasy food making my mouth water. I smile as he sneaks a spring roll into Emmett's waiting hands, throwing him a wink.

"It smells amazing," I say, tipping some rice onto a plate. "Thank you. You want chopsticks, Em?"

Emmett shakes his head, shoving the other half of the spring roll into his mouth.

"So…"

I smile around a forkful of food, my other hand keeping Emmett still in my lap. "So?"

"What did you think?"

"Think of what, Momma?" asks Emmett.

"Edward and I went for lunch today, and it was lovely. Thank you, Edward."

"Did you eat hamburgers?"

"No, no hamburgers."

"But they is Edward's most favorite."

Both Edward and I chuckle. "They are," I say. "But they didn't have hamburgers."

We're all quiet for a moment save for the sound of eating. Edward continues to watch me from across the table, patiently waiting for an answer to his question.

"So, I think I'll wait for Jasper to get back to me with a plan and…go from there."

Edward's mouth twists as he tries not to smile.

"Good," he says.

I laugh. "Good."

* * *

**Wink x**


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

* * *

"Are there stories behind these?" I ask, my index finger tracing the ink on the back of Edward's hands.

His long fingers stretch and flex between my shorter ones, knuckles and callused skin brushing against mine.

"Not really," he replies. His eyes are shut, his face turned toward me like a flower toward the summer sun. "Sometimes they have meaning," he says after a few moments. "Sometimes it's about a time in my life they represent."

The clock beside the bed glows red, reminding me I need to get up for work soon. But with a long, lean, warm body beside me, and Emmett still fast asleep, it's much harder than I'd ever imagined.

I turn his hand in mine, studying all the artwork that dots his knuckles, the backs of his hands, his wrist — my fingers trailing up his forearm. "And I suppose this is full of deep, thought-provoking meaning," I joke, pointing to the pin-up girl, all legs and tits, inked up the length of his inner arm.

Edward's arm ripples beneath my touch as I scrape my nails over the art. "You don't like her?"

"Was she a girlfriend?" Edward shakes his head. "Then I like her."

I let his hand fall, turning to run my hands over the stag head on his chest. "This one?" I ask, staring into the eyes of the huge animal. "What's he for?"

His hand closes over mine, halting its movement across his collarbone. "He's about pain. Courage. Strength. A lot of things."

"What things?"

Edward raises an eyebrow. "That mouth will get you in trouble, you know."

Smirking, I slide my hand down his stomach. "You weren't complaining about my mouth a moment ago."

His lower abdominals tighten, and he grins as his fingers wrap around my wrist gently. With a gentle tug he pulls me atop him, fingers skimming up my ribs.

"I love that mouth, that's why."

I slide the curve of my lips along his, the hair that borders his top lip ticking my skin. Heat pools between my legs as his hand, strong and warm, cups the back of my head, holding me close. As much as his touches drive me crazy, it's that feeling of being held, being possessed, of knowing I'm safe and cared for, that turns me on more than anything else.

Due in no small part to some pretty heavy coercion, he's relaxed somewhat about Emmett being in the next room. Edward realizes now that the kid sleeps like the dead and can't get around the apartment without making noise like a wounded elephant. With full understanding of this, Edward cups his hand over my breast, the rough pad of his thumb brushing over my nipple. I thank God he gets it.

Deepening the kiss, I push my hands through his hair, my nails scraping down the short hair at the back. I'm rewarded with what sounds like a purr from him, and my body sings as he pushes his hips against mine.

"Love me," I whisper into his ear.

"You know I do," he replies, and then my alarm goes off.

We both sigh, our bodies melting into one another. Edward's hands slide from my ass to my back, and he holds me tightly, his body relaxing beneath me.

The buzzer continues to ring as he hugs me tightly. "Real life, huh?"

Lifting my head, I kiss his throat, followed by his mouth I'm so goddamn fond of. "Looks like it."

He kisses me back. "Fun while it lasted."

* * *

"Emmett," I call through the apartment. "You ready?"

I toss my sunglasses into my handbag along with my Chapstick. "Keys, phone, purse…purse, purse, purse—ah! Purse." I toss the comforter over the sheets quickly and kick a pair of shoes beneath the bed. "Em?"

I find him in the bathroom, standing between Edward's legs patiently. Seated on the edge of tub, Edward gently brushes and styles Emmett's hair, his eyes intense with concentration.

"Like yours," says Emmett quietly, trying hard to stay still.

Edward makes a noise of agreement, his lips held between his teeth as he works.

All I can do is watch from the doorway, my love for these brilliant, intelligent, wonderful boys leaving me speechless.

"Check in the mirror."

Emmett climbs up onto his turtle step and looks into the bathroom mirror. He smiles at Edward in the mirror before leaping off the stool into his arms.

I back out quietly, mouth stuffed with a thousand words of love, busying myself in the kitchen.

"Ready?" asks Edward a moment later, tugging at the hem of my jacket.

I kiss him hard and fast, leaving him looking a little stunned.

"What was that for?"

I sling my handbag over my arm. "Because."

He snorts a little, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Okay."

Later I'll think back to moments like this. Moments I should have told him how much I love him. How much he means to me—to us.

But, hindsight is twenty-twenty.

For now I just smile at him, hoping he knows.

* * *

"Lila!"

"Hey, sweetie," calls Lila from the register, her hips bouncing to the music playing on the radio.

"Jim not in?" I ask, wrapping my apron over my hips.

"That man take a day off? Heck no." She uses an old-fashioned pocket mirror to apply another coat of apricot-colored lipstick. "Jess went into labor last night."

"Oh!" I clap a little with happiness. "How exciting. Any word yet?"

Tucking away a few strands of wayward blonde hair, Lila shakes her head. "Nothing yet. It's going to be a long wait, I think."

The lunch shift is steady, but even I can see there's only just enough work for the two of us. Lila's got thirty years of waitressing under her belt, and even at her age can run circles around me. Still, the sound of Pete singing along in the kitchen and the friendly regular staff are enough to keep me happy and occupied until mid-afternoon.

Well, that and daydreaming.

I dream about nine to five hours, and of weekends.

Of being able to spend time with Emmett, maybe take him to the zoo like I've been promising for months now.

I dream of being able to pay a bill on time.

But most of all I dream of a life without having to look over my shoulder. A life where Emmett might be proud of me, where he can bring friends over and not be ashamed of where we live and what we have.

I dream of better.

"Table seven, Bella."

"Seven?" I balance the two plates on one arm as I reach for the third. The smell of chicken fried steak and gravy makes my stomach growl.

"Bella," Lila repeats, her voice quiet, dusted with warning.

"Yeah?"

She looks at me stoically, her hands worrying the notepad in her grasp. One look over her shoulder sends my pulse racing and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

"Oh."

Setting the plates back down, I smooth a hand over my bangs and then down over my apron. Lila presses a supportive hand to my shoulder as I pass. I grab an order pad from behind the till and untuck a pen from my ponytail.

My rubber-soled shoes feel so goddamn loud as they squeak against the cheap linoleum flooring. I can feel Lila watching me from across the diner, and sure enough when I turn back she's there, Pete a few steps away, watching from the kitchen.

My pulse beats in my fingertips, my hands shaking as I step up to the table.

"Afternoon," I say, painting a wobbly smile onto my face. "What can I get you?"

Dark eyes flicker from the menu to me, and yet again I hear the explosion of worlds colliding in my ears.

"How's the meatloaf today?" asks Marcus, folding his hands over the plastic-covered menu.

I swallow my fear, raising an eyebrow at him. "The meatloaf is good. Always is. We're famous for it."

"Famous meatloaf?" he teases, sitting back to unbutton his suit jacket. "Well I'd better get a plate. A coffee, too."

I can barely write I'm so nervous. "Sure thing."

He watches me as I do, like he's sizing up prey, dark eyes boring into every bit of me until I feel him inside my head.

_He knows_, my subconscious whispers. _He knows what you're doing. He knows about Jasper._

It's not until I return with the coffee carafe that I have the courage to say something to him. "What are you doing here?" I whisper, ignoring the stares from the men at the booth with him.

Grinning wildly, Marcus opens his arms wipe to encompass the diner. "What can I say? I love good meatloaf, and I hear Lila's is the best."

"It is," I reply through gritted teeth.

"Well, we just happened to be on this side of town, and I thought we'd drop in and pay a visit."

I swap the coffee to the other hand, filling each of the cups on the table. "How nice of you." I tuck my order pad back into my apron pocket. "How's Tania, Marcus? Heard from her lately, or has she disappeared too?"

Marcus' features tighten a little, but his face remains impassive, his glare hard. "How's your boy? Emmett, right? Cute little guy."

I open my mouth to speak, but remember where I am. How much I need this job as well as the one he gives me. My teeth rattle as I snap my mouth shut.

"I'll bring your lunch shortly. Enjoy the coffee."

I feel like a gun is pressed to my back as I leave, the red dot of a laser sight drilling into the back of my neck.

"You know him?" asks Lila, eyes moving studiously between the coffee cups she's filling.

"I…I work for him."

The machine rattles as she puts the coffee jug back in its place.

"Do you know who he is?" she asks. "What he does?"

My mouth is glued shut, but I know it's written on my face. Lila doesn't need an answer.

She turns, her face a mixture of emotions. Fear is the one I see the most. It knits her brows together and tightens the skin around her mouth. "He can't come here, Bella."

"I know—"

"No. We're already struggling to open the doors in the morning. We do our best to keep our business out of the hands of filth like him. I don't need Marcus and his kind in my diner." She shakes her head, eye boring into mine. "Never again, Bella."

All I can do is nod.

I watch Marcus from the corner of my eye as he and his group sit eating their lunch. He keeps a watchful eye on me right back, and my stomach almost empties itself over my feet when he catches Lila as she passes, a grin on his face as he chats to her quietly.

I'm not sure I want to know what he's saying, but by the look on her face it isn't good.

It's not until he leaves that I relax again.

Although by then the damage has been done.

* * *

Lila lets me out early. I don't know if it's because we're quiet, which we are, or if she's too scared to have me around.

Head down, I walk out to my car.

The hulking red frame of my truck looms ahead, and because of its size I don't notice the other car until I'm around the back.

"Hey."

His wrist slung over the steering wheel, he smiles at me from the driver's seat. "Getting in?"

"But my car…"

Edward leans over the center console, wearing a pair of dark glasses and a smile. Resistance is futile. "Leave it. I'll drive you to work tonight."

"Where are we going?" I ask, drawing the seatbelt across my body.

Edward glances at his watch. "Have a little time before Emmett needs picking up."

I lick my lips, smiling. "Time for what?"

A soft chuckle rumbles from Edward's chest, and even though they're hidden by his glasses I can tell his eyes are crinkled at the side as he smiles. "A drive."

"Oh." It try my best not to pout. "Where to?"

Edward reaches across to rest a hand on my lap. "Around. Make the most of the sunshine."

I wind my fingers between his. "Sounds nice."

He nods, brushing a thumb over mine.

The weight of Edward's hand in mine eases the strain from my shoulders a little, but even so, Edward can tell there's something wrong.

"You okay?"

"He came into my work today," I say with a frown.

"Marcus?"

I nod. "I think he knows something."

"Are you okay? Did he touch you? If he put his hands on you—"

"No. He just scared me. But I think he knows that something's up."

"Can you be sure?"

I pick at the dry skin on my lips. "No. Not for sure."

"Is that why you're finished early? Because of Marcus?"

"I think so. Lila seemed pretty scared afterward. Like she was too scared to have me there. Like I'm a liability or something."

Edward stares out over the dashboard, thumb tapping the steering wheel. The familiar tightening across my chest returns, that crushing fear that follows thoughts of Marcus. Closing my eyes, I try to breathe through the fear, that little voice in my head that tells me "I told you so" screaming at me.

"He talked about Emmett," I whisper. "He came to my work."

The Mustang revs hard as Edward pulls it to the side of the road, gravel and dust billowing around the car as it comes to a stop. I sit quietly while a storm brews in the seat beside me.

He runs a hand over his mouth, pinching his lip.

He looks look he's about to put a fist through the windscreen.

"Edward."

The muscles at his temples twitch, but he continues to stare straight ahead, his hand clamped tightly around his thigh.

"Edward," I repeat, quietly.

Finally he turns to me, brows pulled tight, eyes hard.

"I'm done waiting," he says as he pulls his phone out.

* * *

Twenty minutes later a sleek black BMW pulls up. Edward and I watch from our spot beneath a tree in a park as Jasper, dressed impeccably as always, strolls across the grass. Just like the first time I we met, there's something about him that screams power. Something about the way he holds himself that demands attention, and maybe a little fear.

He flashes me a smile before leaning in to kiss my cheek softly. "Bella," he says quietly before turning to Edward. "Shall we sit?"

I probably look like a child between two grown-ups, my pink uniform swaying beneath my thin jacket. Jasper and I sit on a nearby bench while Edward stands, stalking across the grass like a caged lion, his muscles coiled and his features tight.

"Are you okay?" asks Jasper, his dark glasses hiding his eyes from me.

"I'm okay."

"Tell me everything," he says.

Once I've told him what happened at the diner, he sits back, unbuttoning the front of his jacket. "I've been thinking about this a lot," he begins, his arms splayed wide across the back of the bench. "Been trying to find a way to make this advantageous for both of us. I gotta say, it's not easy."

My heart sinks, and from the corner of my eye I see Edward cross his arms over his chest, his fists tight.

"Marcus has been, and continues to be, a stain on this . For all its flaws, for all its troubles, I love this city. It's my home." Jasper lifts a foot to rest it on the other knee. "Marcus has put himself out of favor with a lot of big players, and I'm sure you can already guess that he's not very well liked in many circles. Not to mention he's a goddamn thorn in my side."

The leaves in the trees above us rustle as a warm breeze rushes through them.

"I've been waiting to bring Marcus down for a while, but haven't been able to get inside. That's where you come in."

"No—"

Jasper holds a hand up, silencing Edward.

"I know I shouldn't be asking you this. And I know that what I'm asking is too much, but, Bella…I need you to hold out for another week. Two tops."

Groaning, Edward slams his hands into his hair. His frustration is palpable from six feet away.

"Why?" I ask quietly, watching as Edward turns from me, his back muscles taut. "What do you need from me?"

Jasper looks down, his fingers worrying a thick silver band that circles his thumb.

"I need to know more about how the club works. How the drugs get in, who brings them, how much he's handling. I need to know about the girls, how many he runs and who their clients are. I need anything I can get to bring him down from the inside. Anything."

"You sound like a cop."

I frown, and Jasper laughs, his entire face softening. "Definitely not a cop."

"What are you going to do with all this information?"

"Marcus moves drugs through the club, but you already know that. Coke. Crystal. MDMA. Whatever he can get his hands on. Someone brings it in for him and he sells it on for a profit—a tidy nine percent from what I hear. But word on the street is he's selling on for more than he should. Making a little extra on the side." Jasper sighs. "People aren't happy, Bella. They're talking. All I need is one weak link. One supplier or investor to flip, one way in to bring him down."

"You can't ask this of her."

Jasper looks up, his brows set in a stern line. "I can."

"He's at her work, Jasper," spits Edward. "He knows about Emmett."

"He knows about you," I whisper, looking up from my hands that lie clenched on my lap. Edward's mouth snaps shut. "I mean, he knows about you. Not who you are, or… who you work for. I think."

"How does he know?"

"He saw us," I say, looking up at Edward. "At the club that night."

Jasper's arm disappears from the seat behind me, and for a moment the air between he and Edward crackles with tension. "You went to the club to see her?"

Edward nods, and I can only assume, from the way he looks at Jasper, he was never meant to be there that night. "The night after the break in at Bella's apartment. I—_fuck_—I knew I shouldn't have gone."

Jasper sucks in a breath, shaking his head. "No. That was stupid. He may not know _who_ you are, but he knows that you _are_. And now you're just another thing he can use to hurt Bella."

Edward looks like he's about to be sick.

I feel the same.

"But we'll talk about that later," says Jasper, laying a reassuring hand on my arm. "It's not a bad thing, but it means we may not have much time on our hands."

"But Edward—"

"Can take care of himself. All I need from you is a little more. I need something I can use as leverage."

"You want me to spy on him?"

"I just need a some eyes and ears inside the club."

After the run-in with Marcus at the diner, and with the bruises from the private party still healing beneath my makeup, the thought of going back into the lion's den leaves me filled with fear.

I look down at my hands, clasped in my lap, last week's nail polish chipping on the thumbs. "Marcus told me the other night that we all have a choice; that it's about making the right one." I look up at Edward. "This is the right choice."

"You don't have to go back," he whispers.

"I need to think about it," I say truthfully, my head swimming with what ifs and buts. "But I will do this for you if it means getting away from Marcus for good."

"Two weeks is all I'm asking for," says Jasper.

"You can't ask her to do that, Jasper!" Edward bursts. "Sending her back in there like this is dangerous."

"I think we have time. If Marcus has any idea that Bella is in deep with us he won't do anything until he's sure. He wouldn't risk loosing an asset like that."

The idea that I'm nothing but a thing, an _asset_, burns. But then I remember who Marcus is and what he does, and I can't imagine it being any other way to him.

"If she gets hurt…"

Jasper stands, straightening to his full height, his broad chest and thick shoulders making him almost the same height as Edward. "If he touches her you can kill Marcus yourself. I promise you that much."

Casting a long shadow across my knees, Jasper turns back to me. "I can give you a new life, Bella. But first you have to do something for me."

* * *

"Momma, it's Edward!" yells Emmett. "Edward is here!"

"Emmett Charles, there's no need to yell," I reply, shutting the bedroom door behind me.

He's dressed in his pajamas and moccasin slippers, his hair still damp from the bath. "You look pretty," he says, smiling up at me, reaching up for a hug. What can I say; the kid is a smooth-talker.

I melt, rolling my eyes. "Thank you."

Edward swings his car keys from his index finger, watching from across the apartment as I lean down to hug Emmett. "Ready?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"She looks pretty, right, Edward?"

A smile curves the corners of Edward's mouth, and he nods. "She looks pretty."

I flush, brushing a hand over my freshly blow-dried bangs, whispering, "Thank you."

Slipping a warm jacket on Emmett, I sling my bag over my shoulder.

"You want to sit up front?" asks Edward.

"With you?"

"I don't know…"

"He'll be fine," assures Edward. "I'll drive slow."

Emmett squeezes my hand. "Can I? Please? I'll sit real still and I won't make noise or anything."

"Just this once."

The sun has only just hit the horizon as we leave the apartment complex. With spring just around the corner the days are lengthening, warming slowly, green and little dots of color popping up around the city.

We arrive at work too soon, and I'm tempted to tell Edward to keep driving. Don't stop here. Just keep going until the road runs out.

But I can't.

I have this one last hurdle. One last hoop to jump through.

"Sleep well, baby," I say, kissing Emmett quickly on the head. "Be good for Edward."

Edward watches me from over Emmett's head, and I can see how much he wishes us nearer. The hand that's slung over the bench seat brushes my shoulder gently.

"I'll be fine," I whisper.

"Call me later. Please."

I hold my phone up. "I will."

"Love you," I mouth. "'Night, boys," I say, leaning back into the window.

"'Night," they answer.

* * *

**Thank you to Rach - who has been there for me all goddamn year; beta-extraordinaire, and all round great chick. **

**To Kitty - for all of her support and inspiration throughout the year (and the rest!). You have my heart, girl.**

**To Rach - for saving my hide and for not telling me to GTFO when I pop out of my hidey hole with a new chapter. **

**To anyone who still reads this thing. We're almost there. I promise. **

**x Happy New Year to all xx Wink**


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

* * *

**EPOV**

"You want some juice, kid?" I ask over my shoulder, listening as Emmett drops whatever toy he's playing with and runs into to the kitchen.

"And a cookie?" he asks, looking up at me hopefully.

I glance at my watch before nodding. I'll probably regret giving him a cookie before bed, but the kid is too goddamn cute to say no.

"You gotta sit at the table like your momma says."

He pulls himself up and into the chair, one of his fists closed tightly around something. He struggles a little, but I found out real quick not to help him. Turns out he's about as stubborn as his mom.

Setting the glass down in front of him, I watch him contemplate whatever it is in his hand and the drink he needs both hands for.

"What's in your hand?"

His blue eyes find mine. "The man gave it to me," says quietly. "Told me to keep it for later."

"What is it?"

Emmett pauses, his hand tightening around whatever it is that's clenched between his clammy little fingers.

I wait patiently.

He opens his little hand and I stare down at the shiny object that rolls across his chubby palm.

I can actually feel the moment my heart stops beating.

It takes a moment for me to find my voice. "You mind if I take a look?"

Emmett hesitates for a moment.

"I'll give it back, I promise." I force a smile, or the closest thing I can to a smile.

Finally, he shrugs, dropping it into my open hand.

Turning it over, I hold it between two fingers. It's only then, once it's in my hands and out those of a four-year-old, that my heart gives a kick to restart. "Who gave this to you?"

"The man."

It takes everything I have not to shout.

"What man?"

Emmett licks the orange juice from his top lip. "At the store today with Momma."

Blood thunders in my ears so loud I can barely hear.

"You show your momma yet?"

He shakes his head. "Uh-uh. It's my secret."

Taking a deep breath, I close my hand around the 9mm bullet. I kneel down beside Emmett, my knees and hands shaking. "I know I said I'd give it back, but do you mind if I keep it a while?"

"I guess." Emmett shrugs, looking totally chill with his juice while my whole fucking world explodes.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

* * *

_Note: This chapter contains violence. It may contain content that some readers find uncomfortable. It also contains the C word and is completely un-beta'd. You've been warned._

* * *

It takes everything ounce of willpower I possess to step foot in Blush. Every cell in my body screams at me to turn and walk away. My muscles ache and my head throbs from the tension that wracks my body.

It feels like walking into a lion's den.

Right into the belly of the beast.

To make matters worse, there's a creeping sense of something looming on the horizon. It tickles the back of mind, ripples down my spine. It seeps into every thought and fogs my vision until I feel like everyone is looking at me.

"_They know,"_ it whispers.

_Fraud._

_Liar._

_Whore._

"Just keep your eyes open," Jasper had said. "Head down, eyes open. Anything you can give us is valuable. How often is he there? Who else is in the club that night? Any faces you recognize?"

Questions, questions, questions. Jasper had mouthfuls of them ready and waiting.

I answered what I could, and promised to find out the answers I couldn't immediately give him. The whole time Edward had been beside me, my hand in both of his, his expression caught somewhere between pride and pain, green eyes burning with an always-undecipherable emotion that bubbled beneath the surface.

"Hey, Mike," I say, smiling up at him.

"Hey, beautiful," he replies, dimples forming. His massive arms flex as he crosses them over his chest, eyes scanning the club over my head. That's the thing about Mike; he's always watching, just never in the right places.

"Looking lovely tonight," he says with a wink.

I run my hands over the red corset I have on, the boning and lace shifting slightly as I adjust it. The bar is quiet, but it's only early. I take advantage of the quiet moment to make small talk. I've never been any good at it though, and soon it feels awkward and forced, and I can tell he knows something's up.

"So," I swallow. I'm so bad at this. "Uh, I was wondering. If I want in on what the girls are selling, how do I do that? Like, what's the cut? And how do I know who to sell to?"

Mike's face falls a little, his arms tightening over his chest. "Aw, Bella," he sighs, frowning. "You don't wanna get into that shit."

"I do." Even to my own ear my voice sounds weak. I straighten, pushing my shoulders back. "I do."

He shakes his head, and for a moment I think he's going to tell me to get lost. He stares down at his shoes for a good thirty seconds before answering me.

"You need to talk to Marcus," he says, expression impassive. "But the cut is 10% for you, the rest for the house. See Marcus or Tania at the start of the shift and they'll set you up."

Mike looks disappointed. Like he expected better.

My gut churns.

"So, what does 10% get me at the end of the night?"

"Depends. I guess you could take an extra hundred, maybe one fifty."

"A week?"

"A night."

Holy shit.

We're both quiet. My brain ticks over as I think about how much the girls must sell to be able to take home that much money in one night. Ten girls, about a grand each, seven nights a week – my mind reels. Marcus must be making an absolute killing.

"How do I know who buys?"

"They'll come to you. "

"How do—"

"You need to stop asking questions," Mike says with a frown. "Ask Marcus if you want to know more."

"Mike—"

He jabs a finger over my shoulder. "Alice is looking for you."

I turn to see the crowd parting, Alice appearing like Moses through the crowd. She teeters on long legs across the club, half-running, her eyes wild. When she spots me her eyes widen and she practically jumps on me.

"Bella," she hisses, grabbing me by the hand. "You have to stop him," she says, pulling me through the club, frantic.

"Stop who? Alice, what's going on?"

It's then I feel her hand trembling around mine. "He's out of his mind. She didn't mean it. She would never… but he's out of his mind."

I hear the scream the moment the dressing room door opens. It cuts right through the thunder of the music, slapping me right in the face. I have to push my way through the small crowd of girls, moving them aside as they stand, frozen, in a loose circle.

Marcus is breathing hard, his shoulders rising and falling beneath his shirt, his arms limp at his side. At his feet, blood from her cut lip smeared across her chin, Tia lies crumpled on the floor, her hands trembling as she raises her arms to protect herself.

"I'm sorry—"

He lifts her by the hair like she's nothing. A ragdoll. A child. His eyes are black pools of hatred ringed with red – like nothing I've seen before.

This isn't Marcus—this is whatever he kept hidden inside. This is the monster I knew he was let loose.

Rage seeps from him, radiating from him like heat from a fire. It pulses and vibrates around him.

"You're hurting me," Tia whimpers, trying in vain to release the hold he has on her hair. He simply tightens his grip until she quiets.

"What are you doing just standing there?" I hiss at the girl beside me.

"No," she whispers back, reaching for me as I brush past her. "Don't!"

I'm across the room in a heartbeat, tugging on Marcus' arm. "Marcus, stop." I tug harder. "Stop!"

When he doesn't release his hold I do the only thing I can think of – I throw myself at him. He lurches as I shove him hard, stumbling to the right.

"Leave her alone."

There's actually a moment where I'm relieved. Where he lets go of Tia, allowing her fall back to the floor with a thump, and I feel a moment of sheer relief. But then he turns to me and I know it was a mistake.

Marcus sneers, his eyes wide with anger.

"You stupid cunt." He pushes me. Hard enough to send me a few steps back. "You stupid fucking cunt."

My back slams against a dresser, a handle or the corner biting into my thigh. The mirror behind me rattles as Marcus grabs me by the throat, pressing me into the glass.

"I can't turn around anywhere without seeing your fucking face."

"Marcus," I whisper, my hands trying to pull his from around my throat.

He squeezes harder, and it's then that I know this won't be like all the other times. He's not going to let me go or toss me aside. This is different. "Shut your goddamn mouth," he spits.

"Marcus," warns Mike from beside him, his large hand flat against his chest. "That's enough."

Marcus seethes, his nostril flaring, "Take your goddamn hand off me, or I'll cut it off."

Mike steps a little closer, trying to put space between Marcus and I. "Leave her—"

I don't even see Marcus take the gun out. I only watch him shoot Mike in the head.

The girls scream, and I flinch as blood splatters the side of my neck and face.

Mike's heavy body crumples to the floor.

"Nobody fucking moves," says Marcus, his hand still wrapped around my throat as he points the gun at the girls, his aim swinging wildly. "You think this is a game?" he yells. "I'll shoot every last fucking one of you whores."

A second later, I can feel the gun pressed hard against the side of my head, the muzzle rattling as Marcus' hands shake.

"You think I won't blow your head off right here? Splatter your brains all over this fucking room? Huh?"

"Stop!" yells Tia, trying to pull his hands from my throat.

Rage fills Marcus' eyes, pulsing through the veins at his temples and into the tiny capillaries of his eyes. With a simple swipe of his hand Tia stumbles back, holding her cheek in her hands. The tiny reprieve, the single moment of distraction is not enough for me to break free, but just enough to let me take a breath.

"You think I don't know. That I don't see. That I won't find out what you're doing behind my back."

With a hand pressed to my throat, his other palm slams into my face once, twice, the third time, making my knees buckle and my vision go black. He's hissing obscenities into my ear, vile, venom-coated words that I'm sure are meant to harm but that disappear somewhere in the blackness as consciousness slips.

"You think you're better than the rest of them, but you're not. You're nothing but a whore. _My_ whore. Mine. You're mine or you're nothing, you hear me? Nothing."

He continues to spit at me in raspy whispers, but all I can hear is the blood whooshing my ears as my brain begs for oxygen and Marcus' fingers tighten further.

Behind him I can see the girls, looks of concern almost hidden by ones of fear, of the fear to make a move. Still I plead with them, my eyes searching, arms reaching for just one person to save me.

But there's no one.

There's no one here to save me and this is how I'll die. Alone.

It feels like my eyes are about to pop out of my head, the pressure is so much I can feel the blood pulsating in my veins, begging to be released. Tears flow down my cheeks as I grapple with his hand, but I'm like a helpless kitten, my strength ebbing as the room begins to darken, my vision clouding. It's not until Marcus looks over his shoulder that I see them.

He's tall and lean, covered in black leather and denim, with violence glistening in his eyes. Dark hair and pale skin, he materializes from the darkened hallway like a wraith, something innately dangerous and fearsome.

But it's the shape behind him that I know instantly.

I'd know it anywhere.

Behind dark hair and leather, is soft, worn cotton and warm skin. Behind him, green eyes scream of blood and vengeance. He appears like the harbinger of death, like a promise of pain.

Marcus' grip on my throat loosens a little. "Who the fuck—"

I slide down the wall, sucking in a lungful of air as Marcus' hands are ripped violently from my throat.

My head spins as the oxygen hits my brain, my lungs burning as I try my best to breathe. Every breath feels like fire scorching my insides, setting my lungs alight. Panting, I close my eyes, trying to will away the pain.

Close by, the sound of violence echoes around the dressing room. I hear the thump of something heavy against skin, the explosion of a gun, and the unmistakable sound of a scream before everything goes quiet.

His voice is the thing that pulls me back into consciousness.

A warm hand brushes my cheek. "Bella?" he says, his voice low. "Tell me you're okay. Open your eyes for me."

"Edward?" I rasp, wincing as my throat rips with pain. I lift a hand to touch the fingers that rest gently on my cheek. His face swims in my vision, but even without his beautiful face I know it's him.

He sighs, his voice wobbling with emotion. "It's me."

_Safe. Safe. Safe._ It's all I can think as I try my hardest to take a full breath into my lungs.

"Edward."

"You're okay. You're safe. Just breath, baby."

Lifting my head, I try to sit up, wincing as my head spins painfully.

"Relax. Lie down. You," he spits to someone behind him. "Take her."

Cool hands lift my head from the floor. Tia. Her slim fingers brush the hair from my face as she cradles my head in her lap. I cough violently. "I got you, sweetheart," she whispers.

My throat feels raw, my lungs rattling as I take deep, shuddering lungfuls of air. I look up from Tia's lap to see blood - a smear of it trailing across the floor to where Marcus sits, hunched over his bloody hand on the floor.

Standing over Marcus, with a gun in his hand, is Edward. His presence seems to suck the air out of the room. Every eye is on him.

"You know these two?" whispers Tia.

I'd know Edward in the dark with my hands tied behind my back.

This person, this angel of fury, I barely recognize.

"Lock the door," he says, gesturing to one of the girls.

She just stands there, frozen, her eyes swinging between Edward and Marcus until Edward reaches out to grab her by the arm.

"Lock. The door."

Trembling, she stumbles to the door and flicks the lock, her shoes leaving bloody footprints as she steps around Mike's body.

"You think you're tough guy, pushing these girls around?" I watch Edward pull what looks like a two-foot wrench from his jacket. "Maybe it's time you picked a fight with someone your own size."

Clutching his bloody hand to his chest, Marcus looks up at Edward, recognition dawning. "You."

A grin, wicked and full of fire, spreads across Edward's face. "Yeah. Me again."

Marcus laughs. "You stupid—" His head whips backward violently as Edward's boot slams into his face, sending him wheeling onto his back.

"Don't think I don't know you broke into her apartment," Edward says. "I know it was you, you piece of shit."

Marcus sneers up at Edward, blood dripping down his chin, soaking into his shirt. "So you're the boyfriend," he says, laughing. "I never knew you had it in you, Bella." He spits, blood and saliva pooling on the floor in front of him. "So, Mr. Knight-in-shining-armor, you here to beat me up? Tell me to stay away from your girlfriend again?"

He moves to stand, but Edward shoves him back down.

"Bella can look after herself," he growls. "But her son? That bullshit you pulled with him? That's why I'm here."

Marcus laughs again, teeth covered in his own blood as it continues to drip from his broken nose. "The kid? That's why you're here?"

_Emmett._

I feel like I'm going to be sick. My head spins as fear turns my blood cold. "What's he talking about?" I wheeze, trying to sit up. Marcus just sneers at me, sending my blood to boil. "What did you do?" I hiss, rage pouring into my veins. I'm almost screaming as I try to reach for Marcus, his throat, his face, anything. "WHAT DID YOU DO?"

"Riley," hisses Edward, gesturing to me.

Riley appears in front of me, hands pressing me back into Tia's arms. "Settle," he whispers. "Emmett's fine. He's safe."

My heart is beating so hard I feel like I might vomit.

"I told you that I would come for you if you went near her again," says Edward cooly. "Here I am."

"Here you are." Marcus sniffs, wiping blood from his face. He looks calm, almost at ease. He shakes his head lightly. "You should have finished the job the first time."

The air in the room crackles as Edward smiles. I've seen every incarnation of this man's smile, but nothing has ever scared me like this. I watch as he bends down, his mouth close to Marcus' face as he whispers to him.

Marcus' eyes widen, realization sinking into his features, followed closely by what can only be described bone-deep fear.

"N-No," he stutters, all traces of the bravado wiped clean from his expression. His face a mess of sweat and tears. "No, wait. I never went behind his back, I swear."

Edward stands, grip tightening around the wrench in his hand.

"Jasp—"

Marcus screams just once. After that, the only thing I hear is the wet sound of metal and blood and muscle, and beneath that, the crunch of bone breaking.

Nobody moves but Edward, his arm arcing through the air and again and again.

I feel Tia flinch with each blow. Or maybe it's me, I don't know.

It's the kind of sound that haunts you in your deepest sleep, and I fear it might echo through my head for days. Forever maybe.

"Edward." Riley says after a moment. "It's done.

It's not until Riley places a hand on Edward's shoulder that he stops, arm raised in midair, his skin covered in blood and God knows what else. Even from a few feet away I can see his muscles shaking, his body vibrating under the strain of his anger.

There isn't a single sound. No one breathes. No one moves. No one fucking blinks.

Raquel, one of the out-of-town girls, steps forward, and all eyes swing to her. I flinch as she spits on the bloody mess at her feet. "Good riddance."

This was the man who's terrorized and victimized every single woman in the room, the man who lied and coerced and bullied, who threatened my child and my life.

Edward drops the wrench, the whole room flinching as metal hits cement.

The sound is like a starter gun going off, and the whole room is suddenly thrown into chaos. Girls are grabbing things left and right. Bags, purses, coats, anything they can get their hands on. Not one of them stops to look at Marcus' body. Not one.

"Help me up," I say, wincing as the words rake my throat.

Tia helps me to my feet, holding me gently as I wobble. "I… oh God." She looks down at Mike's body. "I have to go," she says, fear written across her face. "I can't be here when—"

"Get out of here," I urge her. "Go. Before the police turn up."

She hugs me fiercely, eyes filled with a thousand questions. She looks over my shoulder, at what I assume is Edward. "Be safe," she whispers.

And then she's gone—disappearing out the side door.

Behind me, Edward still stands over Marcus' body, his hands shaking, his shoulders trembling. "Edward," I say. I press my hands to his face until he lifts his eyes to mine. "Edward, please. Where's Emmett? Tell me he's okay."

Like cloud clearing from a stormy sky, his green eyes focus as he looks at me. He blinks a few times. "He's with the Eizadis. He's safe."

I look behind him at the mess that was Marcus' face.

When I look back at Edward, he's gazing at me with that deep, intense look he's so good at. "Are you okay?"

My immediate reaction is to nod. But I am so not okay. I just watched the man I love beat a man to death. I don't know how to feel.

Heavy fists against the dressing room door echo through the room. Riley picks up the bloody wrench, tucking it into his jacket. The sound of sirens in the distance make my heart race.

There is so much I want to say, so much I want to know, but the police sirens are getting closer and I know we can't stay. Edward can't stay.

"Go," I whisper, pushing at him gently. "You need to go, Edward. Please."

Riley is standing at the side door, impatient, nervous. "Edward, man. We gotta go."

I can feel the blood on his hand smear across my cheek as Edward pulls my mouth to his. He kisses me with an intensity that almost knocks my knees from beneath me.

It feels like fear and tastes like love.

He says my name.

He tells me he loves me.

He says I'll see you soon.

But I know it's goodbye.

* * *

**Thank you to Rach, the sweet thing, for doing a quick read for me. Sozzles for any errors. **

**Wink x**


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

* * *

**Again. No beta. **

* * *

Two days after Edward leaves, the bruises on my throat begin to bloom, turning from a bright red to a deep, purple blue.

One week after that, the cut on my lip finally heals over, and the pillow on my bed looses the lingering smell of aftershave and shaving cream.

Two weeks after, I have to pull Emmett out of preschool.

I spend hours in line at the financial aid office, trying to talk to someone about further assistance with only mild results. With my dwindling shifts at the diner, the meager stipend just about covers my rent and food, never mind the maxed out credit cards and the unpaid bills in my kitchen.

Through it all it's like there's a film over my eyes. I could almost believe it's happening to someone else.

With Eric it was different. When he left I felt nothing. He left me empty, hollow but for my love for Emmett. In the years that followed, after the death of my father and after Eric went to jail, I used that void, that empty feeling he left me, as a shield. Everything bounced off of me, hit my walls and never got much further.

But this, this is different.

My insides feel scarred. Ripped up and shredded, raw and vulnerable, open and bloody for the world to see. My skin feels bruised all over, like I've gone ten rounds with a heavyweight. Even breathing hurts.

Because you don't love like that without it leaving a mark.

But as much as I want to crawl into this black hole of self-pity and hurt, I have a little one who needs me. A little one who feels the loss of Edward almost as much as I do. So I move.

I take one step and then another, followed by another.

I wash my hair, I brush my teeth, I clean my apartment.

For weeks I hold onto hope that I'll open the door one day and there he'll be—coming out of his apartment, those eyes of his gazing at me from beneath a dark hood.

But he doesn't.

His phone goes straight to message bank. His apartment remains empty. I don't hear the rumble of his car, and my bones ache from missing him.

I spend the mornings scouring the wanted ads, looking for something stable. The club out on highway 98 is looking for dancers—it's mostly frequented by truckers and drunks and I happen to know that they're happy to charge extra for a quick blowjob in one of the back rooms.

Ignoring that ad, I make a few calls to some of the other clubs in town, and a few restaurants and cafes also looking for staff. The response is underwhelming.

The city is already in the midst of an unemployment epidemic, and with an entire club full of girls now looking for work the better clubs in town simply don't have room on their roster for new staff.

Things at Blush fell apart the moment _he_ left. The police turned up, but the place was such a mess, with people everywhere and two dead bodies, that it was easy enough for me to slip away.

The club closed down immediately, pending an investigation. I watched as news footage rolled, the bodies being carted out of the building by coroner staff, Marcus' apartment cordoned off by the FBI. But, as it does in a city like this, the investigation went nowhere. It only took a week or so for the story to disappear, for it to be swept under the rug like everything else in this diseased place.

A week after it falls from the news, three weeks after it all went down, the police finally turn up at my door.

"Isabella Swan?" the woman asks, showing me her badge.

I nod.

"I'm Detective Peters, and this is Senior Detective Matheson, do you have a moment to talk?"

"Can I ask what this is about?" I ask, knowing full well why they're here.

The male Detective—Matheson—steps forward. "We just have a few questions about your work at Blush, if you don't mind."

"Of course." I open the door to allow them in.

The taller of the two Detectives, Peters, is a striking, dark-skinned woman called Senna. Beside her, the middle-aged man with greying temples and a three-day growth looks positively worn out. Still, there's something kind in his eyes. He's seen what this city can do to people, what people like Marcus did to people.

"Can I get you a drink?" I ask quietly, watching as the Detectives catalogue my apartment from top to bottom.

They both shake their heads.

"My son is taking a nap, so I only have a few minutes," I say, showing them to the kitchen table. "I promised him a walk in the park."

Senna smiles and slides a folder onto the table, flipping it open. "We'll make this quick, I promise."

She starts with basic questions; my age, my full name, how long I've lived here. The other Detective simply listens, his grey-blue eyes taking it all in.

"You used to work for Marcus McFinney, am I correct?"

"Yes."

"How long did you work at Blush?"

"Just over a year."

She nods, taking notes quickly. "And in that time, were you ever asked to sell drugs or trade sex for money?"

I swallow. "No."

Senna's dark brow arches. "You can tell us the truth, Miss Swan. With Marcus dead we're simply trying to find out what really happened, and who might have been involved in his murder. You're in no danger."

"I know that some of the other girls were selling, but I never did. I have a little boy."

She smiles, and her eyes soften with an unspoken thank you. "You're a smart girl," she says, settling back into the chair. "Beautiful. Some of the other girls we've spoken to say you were Marcus' favorite. That he asked you to do private parties and that you went along sometimes. Is this true?"

"That's true. Although—" I can't help the wry smile that turns up the corner of my mouth, "—I would hardly say I was his favorite."

Senna looks at the paling bruises on my neck, and at the almost healed cuts on my face. If she suspects anything she doesn't say, and part of me wonders if she cares at all about Marcus' death. In the end he's just one less asshole she has to worry about.

"Can you tell me what went on at those private parties?"

I tell them as much as I can, omitting any details that might tie me back to him, or him to me. The police might think I'm safe, but I have no idea how far reaching Marcus's influence was, and have no want to find out.

Somewhere in the other room I hear my phone ring. I start to rise, but something in Senna's expression makes me sit back down.

"We're almost finished," she assures me.

I smooth my hands over my bangs, nodding as she slides a picture out of the folder.

"Around midnight Friday the fourteenth - the night Marcus was murdered - two men were seen entering the side door of Blush." She taps a finger against the picture. "Do you recognize either of them?"

Turning the photo, I look down at the two shadowy figures caught by the security camera. The shot is dark, the two figures cloaked in shadow.

"It's the only photo we have, so anything you can offer would be a help."

I hate the way my heart lurches at the shape of his form. That even in shadow and darkness, there's an instinctual recognition of Edward. I shake my head, sliding the photo across the table toward her. "I'm sorry."

Senna doesn't push, she simply tucks the photo away and writes more notes.

The male Detective beside her leans in, hands clasped on the table. "Can you tell us where you were when Marcus was killed?"

"In the locker room. I heard the gunshot and figured it was safer to hide where I was."

"And you didn't hear or see anyone while you were in there, or afterward?"

"No. I stayed hidden until everything went quiet."

The questions go on like that for a while. Never probing, but consistent: where, when, why, who. I keep my answers short, trying my best to answer as truthfully as I can without incriminating anyone else.

Thankfully, from the way Senna and the other Detective continue to ask if I have any idea who killed Marcus, I can only assume that the girls have kept quiet. I don't know if it's because they're happy he's dead, or if they're scared of the repercussions should they spill.

I don't care.

As long as Edward is safe, I don't care.

"Momma?" Blinking sleep from his eyes, Emmett appears at his bedroom door.

For a moment Senna looks like she might say something, but a gentle hand beneath the table, a call for hesitation from the older Detective, stills her tongue.

"I think we have enough," she says quietly, her expression softening as Emmett slides up and into my lap.

They both stand, packing up the photos and folders. Senna slides a card across the table. "If you remember anything, or if you have any questions, please call me."

They both know they'll never hear from me again. Still, I tuck her card into my pocket and show them out.

* * *

That night, I lie in my bed, feeling more alone than I have in my entire life, blinking back the sobs as tears track down my face and into my pillow.

Every time I close my eyes he's there.

Baking dish in hand at my front door, a Bandaid on his knuckles.

In the driver's seat of his car, back lit by a fading sun, smiling right at me from behind dark glasses.

Hovering above me, consuming me with his touch.

Standing over Marcus, destroying the world with his wrath.

The days are easier.

I paint on a smile and a cheery voice for Emmett. We play games and we color in, we visit with Neda and Amun, and we play in the park. We pass the time as best we can while I linger in a limbo-like state, waiting for… waiting for I don't know what.

But I'm too scared to go any further than the local 7-11, too afraid of this city's eyes and ears to take Emmett anywhere. I feel like a prisoner in my own home.

I have to get out of here. Out of this city, out of the state, out of the goddamn country if I have to. But then I look at my bank account and remember why leaving isn't on the cards. Leaving takes money—money I don't have.

It turns out that salvation comes in a suit and glasses at three in the afternoon on a Tuesday.

There are three short sharp knocks on the front door. Emmett raises his head, his eyes snapping to mine.

I place the tray of hot cookies on the bench gently. "No touching," I warn, raising a finger at him. "You'll burn your fingers."

Emmett makes a face, but nods. I throw the oven mitts onto the bench just as another knock sounds. My heart pounds painfully in my chest, beating with hope and fear and anger.

Moments later, Jasper steps through my doorway, his presence filling the room like a fire consuming oxygen. It takes a moment to get my heartbeat back to normal.

He looks around as he swaggers in like it's just another day. "I'd say this is a nice place you've got here but…"

I close the door, flicking over the locks. "You'd be lying."

Jasper turns to me, inquisitive eyes finding mine, searching, seeking, digging. He smiles gently, thick, dark brows pulling together. "How are you, Bella?"

Unable to hold his stare, I look away, hugging my arms against my chest. "I've been better."

He nods in understanding, turning to the kitchen where Emmett stands, eyes wide. "This must be the little man I've heard so much about."

Heavy boots cross the kitchen floor, and he reaches out to shake Emmett's hand. My heart sinks as he shrinks away from Jasper, rounding the table to come straight to me. I hold him close to my side, my hand in his hair.

"Emmett has trust issues with men at the moment." I cross my arms over my chest. "I'm sure you can imagine why."

Jasper frowns, a touch of guilt in his expression. "Mind if I sit?" he asks, gesturing to the kitchen table.

Emmett watches carefully as I sit in the seat beside Jasper. I slide two cookies from the tray, holding them out to him.

"Go find your new dinosaur book, baby."

Both Jasper and I watch as he crosses the apartment, disappearing into his bedroom. There's no way I want Emmett here to hear this conversation. AS it is he's barely through his bedroom door before I can't hold my tongue any longer.

"Have you heard from him?"

Jasper shakes his head. "Not since he left."

It takes all I have not to grab Jasper by the shirt and shake him until he tells me where Edward is. Instead, I clench my jaw and clasp my hands in my lap.

"You don't know where he went?"

Another shake of his head. Another stone sinking to the bottom of my stomach.

"Bella." Jasper swallows hard, and the rare display of something soft and vulnerable in his expression is almost too much to bear. "I'm sorry," he says. "I should never have sent you back there. I should have seen how dangerous it was..." He sighs, his eyes closed. "I should have known."

"But you didn't," I reply, surprised at how calm I am. "You weren't to know. Something set him off and I just happened to be there. It could have been any other night, any other girl."

"But it was you. And for that I'm sorry."

Feeling self-conscious under the weight of Jasper's apology, his steely gaze and the situation itself, I glide a hand over my cheekbone, where nothing but a phantom pain lingers.

"And I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," continues Jasper. "To be honest I wasn't sure if you'd want to see me at all. Surprised you didn't slam the door in my face."

I manage a smile. "So am I."

Jasper's heavy boot brushes my leg as he lifts a foot up to rest it on his knee. I'll never get over how he can make himself look at home wherever he is. How quickly he can own a room.

"No one is taking over the club?" I ask, kind of hoping he'll say yes. He doesn't of course, because no one wants to go to a strip club where the last owner was bludgeoned to death in the back room.

"The police came by."

"I assumed they would."

"I didn't tell them anything."

Jasper doesn't reply, just nods solemnly, and we sit in silence for a moment—me picking at a cookie, Jasper watching me do so.

"I know this is hard," he says after a moment. "But it's what's he thought was best, and… shit, Bella, arguing with Edward just isn't an option. But I know, without a doubt, that if he could, he would have stayed. He would have stayed for you and the boy."

"Yeah, well, it's not like I can explain it all to Emmett, is it? All he knows is that Edward left."

"And I can tell you that knowing that will be eating Edward up inside. But for now, it's safer that he's not here. Safer for you, and for him."

I close my eyes, trying to will away the vision of blood dripping from Edward's hands, his beautiful face marred by such intense anger. "I watched Edward beat Marcus to death. I should be scared. I should be terrified of a man who could do that to someone. But I'm not."

Opening my eyes, I expect to see judgement in Jasper's eyes. Some sign that I should be afraid, that i shouldn't have known, that I should have seen this coming. But I don't. All I see reflected back at me is the face of a guy who's lost a friend. A family member.

"I want him back, Jasper," I say quietly. "I need him back so much it hurts."

Leaning toward me, he takes my hand in his two large ones, pressing firmly. "Plans haven't changed, Bella. If you want a new start I can give it to you. Somewhere safe, away from the city and all this mess."

"You'd still do that for me?"

Jasper gives me a look. "Edward would kill me if I let you stay here." He gestures to my apartment.

"Hey!" I flush with embarrassment. "I still live here."

I press my lips into a thin line. Being around Jasper feels comfortable, like being with family. But beneath the comfort is the raw pain. The empty chair across from the two of us just a reminder of who's missing from both of our lives.

"Before he left, Edward gave me this." He slides a plain white envelope across the table. "I promised that I would give it to you. He knew you'd probably throw it in my face, but asked that I give it to you anyway."

My fingers twist in my lap. "What is it?"

"A new start." With that, he raps twice on the tabletop and stands. "My number is on the envelope. The rest is up to you."

He fishes his keys from his pocket, and unhooks his sunglasses from his collar. With one last look around, he smiles, chuckling very quietly as he fingers the peeling wallpaper beside the front door.

"This place really is a shit hole."

* * *

The envelope sits unopened on my bedside table for a week.

For one week it stares at me, my name scrawled across the front in the blocky capitals I know are his.

So many times I reach for it, only to snatch my hand back, scared of what's inside.

"A new life," Jasper said.

I rip it open.

Inside are two pieces of paper. One is a check, the other - a letter. It's short, but something about seeing proof of him thinking of us makes me burst into tears.

_Bella,_

_This won't be long. You know I'm not good with words._

_I have to go and I don't know when I can come back. _

_If I can._

_I just want you to know that being with you and Emmett has been the best thing that's ever happened to me. The time I've had with you two has been the best of my life._

_Take this not as a gift, but as a thank you. Just take it._

_I love you. Always._

_x E_

I read and read and read. I hear it echo through my head in his voice, hear that last word, _always_, whispered in his deep, raspy tone.

The check sits folded up on the table. Shaking hands, I unfold it, only to drop it back onto the table.

Thirty thousand.

That's not a new life, it's a new world. A future.

* * *

**Almost there. Promise. **

**Thank you, as always, to my sweet Rach for her pre-reading eyes. To all the lovelies on FB - Packy, Patrizia, May, Erica, Meg, Cappie, Sparrow, Rochelle, Archy, Glo, Karen, just fucking all of you, okay? Thank you. **

**Wink x**


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

* * *

_Completely unbeta'd. x_

* * *

A dozen times I pick up the phone to call Jasper. A dozen times I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering over the call button.

Eleven times I put the phone down, too scared to make the call. I guess the twelfth time's a charm.

The phone rings and rings until I'm sure it's going to go to voice mail, but at the last minute he picks up.

I clear my throat, finding the voice that feels like it's buried. "Jasper?" I croak "It's Bella."

He's quiet for a heartbeat. Then he says, "One moment", and for that one moment my heart beats so hard I think I'm going to be sick. I contemplate hanging up. I hear his muffled voice across the phone line, that deep timbre, the dominant, authoritative quality to his words. I don't hang up. I take a deep breath and I stay on the line.

"You still there?"

"I'm here."

My hands shake.

He's quiet again. Waiting. "Tell me what I want to hear," he says.

My mouth opens but nothing comes out.

I'm not ready. I need more time.

But there is no more time. I'm just wading in the deeper water, waiting for something. For someone.

I bite the inside of my cheek, willing whatever courage I have to appear.

"I'm ready."

My voice sounds weak, even to me.

"Have you really thought about it?" asks Jasper. "What this means?"

My inhale is ragged, air sucked over emotions ready to spill. I know all too well what leaving means - I've been unable to think about anything else since I tore open the letter from Edward.

"It means a new start," I answer quietly. "A new life."

"It means leaving it all behind, Bella. _Everything_."

I close my eyes against the tears that push painfully against the back of my eyes. "I know."

Jasper is quiet for a moment, but I can tell it's because he's giving me some space.

"Can you be ready in a week?" he asks after a minute.

I look around at the apartment. My tiny world. At the boy that my tiny, fucked up world revolves around.

"Give me two."

* * *

But, as it has want to, the world has other plans for me.

Four days later Jasper calls. "Where are you? Are you at home?"

He sounds concerned. As close to frantic as Jasper can get.

"I was just about to take Emmett to the park, why?"

"Someone identified Edward from the surveillance video. The police have issued a warrant for his arrest."

"Oh my god."

"I've already had the boys at the garage call. The police turned up this morning looking for him. Turned the place upside down looking for his address."

"They won't find him though, right? He's not here, he's...safe?"

"He's safe. But, Bella, the police are going to make the connection between the two of you. It's only a matter of time."

"You think they'll come here? That they'll think I had something to do with Marcus' death?"

"I'd be surprised if they didn't already."

Bile rises in my throat and my vision starts to swim. "What do I do, Jasper? I can't… what if they arrest me?"

It feels like my lungs are filling with water. My legs are shaking so hard I can barely stand, but at the same time I can't move, I'm stuck to the spot.

"I won't let that happen," assures Jasper. "But I need you to pack your things. Now."

"You want me to leave?"

"If you have a better idea i'm all ears."

My stomach twists painfully, and try as I might I can't seem to think of a single thing, let alone a better plan than _run_.

"Bella?"

"How long do you need?"

Jasper breathes what I can only assume is a sigh of relief. "Half an hour."

Half an hour to pack up our life. It's not enough time. It's not quick enough. For all I know the police could be downstairs right now.

"I'll be waiting downstairs."

Thirty-five minutes later I have a bag packed with essentials, and Emmett dressed and ready to go. I slip the envelope with my last check from the diner into my pocket. "Got your bag?"

Emmett shoulders the Spiderman backpack, hands wrapped around the straps. "Yup. Got it."

"And did you get your nightlight like I asked?"

He nods again, jiggling the backpack. "I put it safe in my bag."

"Okay," I say, reaching out for him. "Quick. Let's go."

I take Emmett's hand in mine, careful not to squeeze too hard. I'm trying my best to keep calm for him, but every noise, every footstep outside the door has me on edge. I spend every minute of the half an hour expecting the police to show up at my door.

And now, with our lives stuffed into backpacks, I'm standing in my shitty living room, my heart racing at a mile a minute, and it all comes crashing down on me.

Leaving this apartment means leaving behind the last link to Edward that I have. This stupid, ugly, smelly apartment is so filled with memories of him that leaving it all behind feels like letting him go. And no matter what's happened, I'm not ready to do that yet.

But now I have no choice. Stay, and face the police about Edward's hand in Marcus' death, or run.

As cowardly as it might be, I choose to run. Because regardless of the choices i've made in my life, Emmett deserves better. And so that's what i'm going to give him.

* * *

One last time, Emmett and I head down the crooked, creaky stairs, past the apartment on the second floor where the couple argue every night, past the bank of elevators that have never, and probably will never, work.

I leave a simple note for Neda and Amun—a thank you for being the closest thing to family I've had in years.

How inadequate the words feel. I make a mental note to send them something later.

Jasper's car is idling at the front door when we emerge into the morning sun.

"Should I follow in my truck?"

"It's too distinctive. The truck will have to stay," says Jasper with a frown. "I'm sorry."

Quicker than I ever thought possible, especially since car seats are such a pain in the ass, I move Emmett's seat from my truck to Jasper's car. Emmett sits in the tray while Jasper cleans everything from inside, every receipt, every note, every shopping list.

As soon as he's satisfied, we toss our things into the trunk of the BMW, and within seconds of getting buckled in we're roaring out of the apartment complex. Emmett and I watch as the city skyline rolls away in the window behind us. In the space of just minutes it's nothing but a bad memory - a dot on the horizon, a picture in the rearview mirror as we drive away.

It's not until we've well and truly cleared the outskirts of the city that my heart finally begins to slow it's rapid pace. I release my hands from where they sit, clenched tightly in my lap. My fingers ache and my palms are sweaty. I rub them over my legs, trying to work a little feeling back into them.

"Where we going, Momma?" asks Emmett from the backseat.

I turn to Jasper. He shakes his head ever so lightly.

"We're going on an adventure," I say, turning to smile back at Em. "Kind of like explorers do."

"Splorers?"

"We'll go somewhere you've never been before."

"Have you been there afore?"

"No. So we'll be explorers together."

"Will it be fun there? Like at the playground?"

"It'll be fun," I say, reaching over the centre console to pat his leg gently. "I promise. You just have to sit tight for a while, okay?"

I help him load up and settle in with his portable video player, and hand him back a pack of raisins, the only thing I have rattling around in my handbag that will keep him satisfied for a little while.

Turning back in my seat, I shuck my shoes off and pull my knees up to my chest. "Can you tell me where we're going?" I whisper.

Eyeing my feet that rest on his leather seats, I can tell under any other circumstances i'd be on the receiving end of a talking to, but instead Jasper ignores it, turning back to the road. "I have family out of state who own some property," he says. "It's nothing big, but it's safe and it's in the middle of nowhere. Everyone keeps to themselves, so you should be able to settle in nice and quiet."

"The kind of place I can lay low in, huh?"

Jasper nods. "At the very least until things die down." He takes the exit onto the freeway, the tick-tick-tick of the indicator so incredibly loud in the silence.

"Third time's a charm, I guess," I mumble, mostly to myself.

"You never know," says Jasper, reaching across to pat my knee. "You might grow to like Clearwater."

* * *

We drive until the sun dips low on the horizon, and the landscape turns from barren and dusty to green and lush. The road begins a gentle wind upward until I'm sure we're about the break through the sky itself.

At just after six, Jasper pulls into a roadhouse for dinner. Emmett is ravenous, and stuffs himself with chicken fried steak and waffles. By the time he's finished, he's so tired and full he's almost asleep in his seat. While he sleeps on my lap, I demolish a bowl of pasta, an entire stack of garlic bread, and half a slice of apple pie. I can't remember the last time I felt so full.

Of course, ten minutes on the road again and the anxiety in my gut causes it to churn so hard I have to get Jasper to pull over.

By eleven o'clock Jasper can barely keep his eyes open, and Emmett is awake and cranky, so ready to be out of the car.

We find a motel with rooms to rent in a tiny town near the top of the mountain. Emmett and I stay in the car, away from prying eyes, while Jasper books two rooms. I watch him through the car window, broad shoulders and thick, ropey arms outlined beneath Italian tailoring.

Funny. Even so far away from the place he calls home, there's still something about him that makes people cautious, like he triggers an instinctual fear in people.

Still, imposing or not, Jasper finds it in him to smile and tip his head at the woman behind the counter. He's polite and friendly, and apart from Edward, there's not one single person on the planet i'd feel more safe with.

* * *

The next morning, after a breakfast of microwave burritos and gas station coffee, we drive another few hours, winding through the mountains and over the border.

"Look, Momma," whispers Emmett, cheek pressed against the window.

"I see, baby."

To our left, as the mountain slopes away gently, it's like the earth unfolds beneath us. The cloud cover begins to part and the trees thin, revealing clear, blue sky and rolling green for miles and miles.

We begin the slow descent down the other side of the mountain, and not long after we make it to the bottom, tiny houses begin to appear, simple log cabins and sprawling green farmland between. Logging trucks whizz by, and the odd SUV and motorbike, but other than that the roads are almost empty.

Clearwater appears soon afterward, nestled among furs and brush, hidden beneath he shadow of the mountain. It's barely a town. It's a general store and gas station, a few convenience stores and a diner - that's all. It's the kind of place you could nap right through. Blink and you'd miss it.

On the edge of town, tucked against the forest, is a tiny weatherboard house. The road is long and empty, and there's just two other houses in the street, with large yards and weedy blocks of land in between.

The front porch of the house is creaky and needs another coat of paint, but inside it's warm and smells of wood polish and pine. A small kitchen and living area sit downstairs, and three – yes, three – beautiful, bright bedrooms are upstairs along with a bathroom.

The yard is full of weeds, but there are empty flower beds and spots for herbs or even vegetables. There's even a huge, thick-trunked tree in the front yard, the kind you could hang a swing from, climb in, carve your name into.

It's small and simple and wonderful and it's ours.

* * *

Jasper very kindly helps Emmett and I settle in, even though I tell him a thousand times he doesn't need to.

We open windows and let in the breeze, we order groceries to be delivered, and Jasper promises to organise furniture deliveries. Of course, being so far from a city or any other kind of real civilisation means we're going to have to wait at least a week for beds and proper furniture. But the old spring-loaded mattresses in the house will do for now, and after a good wash at the local laundromat, the blankets and sheets are just fine if not a little old.

The house is equipped with bare necessities - all the things you'd find in a holiday home. Or, as is more likely, a safe house.

But one man can only do so much, especially when there's not much to do. The next day Jasper makes it clear that he has to leave.

He packs the small amount of belongings he brought with him into the car, and gratefully accepts a thermos filled with coffee for the trip.

"One last thing," he says, reaching into the back of his car.

He hands me a shopping bag, out of which I pull a brand new phone in its box.

"Jasper…"

"I've already programmed my number in. You have any problems—anything at all—you call me. Got it?"

Folding his jacket neatly, he drapes it over the passenger seat.

"And you'll call me?" I ask tentatively. "If…he shows up?"

"The very moment." I watch as he dons those ever-present sunglasses, the ginger in his beard shining copper in the sunlight. "Are sure you sure don't want me to stay the night? Make sure you're comfortable?"

"It's a kind offer, but no." I straighten my shoulders. "We need to do this."

"You're going?" asks Emmett, who's appeared at my side, dinosaur toy in hand. He looks up at me, concern in his eyes. "Mr. Jasper isn't sleeping the night?"

"No, buddy," I say, pulling him into my side. "He has to go back home."

"But I'll come back to visit," says Jasper with a smile. "Don't you worry about that."

"So, we is staying here forever?"

I look back over my shoulder at the double-front house, then down at him. "For now, yeah."

"Cool! Hey, can I go play?"

"Sure, just stay close."

We're both quiet for a minute. Jasper watches Emmett over my shoulder, while I search for the appropriate words to thank a man who's basically saved my life.

"Jasper, I can't…" I frown, failing to shape my mouth around the appropriate words "I don't know how to thank you enough. Or if I can. What you've done for Emmett and I…you're a good man. Even if you don't think so."

I could be imagining it, but when I look up I swear I see a hint of a blush beneath his wooly cheeks. "Yeah, well. You can thank me by staying out of trouble, you hear me?"

A genuine smile lifts my cheeks. "I'll do my best."

"That'll have to do, I guess," says Jasper with an echoing smile. I watch as he folds himself neatly into the driver's seat, ready for the long trek back to the city. "I'll see you soon," he says through he open window.

"I'll be here."

That night, after a whirlwind two days of travel and excitement for Emmett, we both crash early.

Maybe it's the creaking of the big house around us, or maybe it's the stray arm Emmett throws across my head in the middle of the night, but I wake around one in the morning, and can't seem to find sleep again.

In the end, I realise that it's the stillness.

The silence.

There are no bright lights. No sounds of the apartment block around us. No traffic noises in the distance. Nothing.

It's startling, and it makes me realise how small I am in this big, big world.

* * *

The furniture arrives three days later. Brand new beds, living room decor, and a small hard-wood dining table. It's not much, but it's a start.

The first two weeks in our new home I cry myself to sleep almost every night.

Away from the city, in the silent backwoods of Clearwater, it's like it all finally comes crashing down on me. How close I came to loosing everything, how stupid and naïve I was to think I could outplay Marcus.

Alone beneath my new sheets, in a new town, with a new life, hundreds of miles from a familiar face, I realize how empty my bed feels. How empty my life feels without Edward around. I'm not sure how I lived alone for so long before he came into our lives.

In the mornings I try to scrub him from my skin. To wash away the memory of his hands on my body, his lips on mine, his skin against my own. But no matter how hard I try to clean him from my waking memory, his face still haunts me in my sleep. Dreams of him come, unbidden, in the middle of the night when I have no choice but to live through the pain of seeing him again.

The man I loved.

Still love.

Kind, sweet, quiet, patient.

A killer.

* * *

**There were a dozen things that kept this update from popping up sooner, the least of which was a few weeks without a laptop, the most being my extreme lack of mojo. But, hopefully you're still there. I am. Just a little lurkier.**

**Wink x**


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

* * *

A week after we arrive, I receive a package in the mail from Jasper. Inside is a brand new driver's license, social security details, passports, even a card for the library in town.

It's my face that looks out at me from the papers — same brown hair, same brown eyes — but it's the only thing about it that's familiar. I take some time to read over the new information Jasper sent, memorising the important details. Essentially I'm the same person, just with a few more skeletons in the closet. I try not to think about how Jasper got all of this so quickly, or who he had to call in favours from. I've learned that it's best to simply say thank you, and shove all those questions to the side. The less I know, the better.

As so as it does, life continues on.

The days move one into another until they become weeks. The pain eases, but it never really goes away. It sits under the surface of my new skin, no longer raw and pink for the world to see, but still so fragile and tender that all it takes is one small tug to open a wound and out it pours.

Sometimes—less and less now—I sit out on the front deck, a tea in my hands, thinking about him. I wonder if, wherever he is, he's thinking about me. If i'm the last thing he thinks about before he goes to sleep. If he's safe. If he's happy. If he'll ever come find me.

But that's all they are - thoughts. Because that's all I have.

So, instead of wallowing, I throw all my effort into making the transition to a new town easier for Emmett.

Slowly but surely, we turn the tiny house at the end of a long dirt road into a home. We clean out the large shed at the back of the property, and I sell whatever I can to the secondhand store in town. A rusted mower, a pile of broken power tools, even a motorbike - it all goes. With what i get for all the junk, I buy a sweet little pale blue Toyota from a guy in town for a steal. It smells like brake fluid and cigarette smoke, and the heating doesn't work. We love it.

While the money from Edward is a Godsend, I know that it won't go far once things like school and bills start. I contemplate online jobs, and for a millisecond look into the prospect of stripping over webcam. But apart from the fact that I don't want my face all over the internet, just the idea that I don't know who's watching feels wrong. That power shift I'd loved about dancing, the knowledge that for fifteen minutes I held that man in the palm of my hand with nothing but the subtle shift of my hips, it was addictive. To give that up feels like giving up that power, that consent.

Well, that and charging fifty cents a minute for some creep to jerk off in his bedroom was beyond desperate—even for me.

* * *

"Jacob Black, you get your ass back in this house!"

Washing the breakfast dishes, I watch from my kitchen window as a teenage boy storms out of the house next door, down the crooked little path, and out into the street where he jumps on a bike and pedals away at full speed. A tall, dark-haired woman follows, only to have to watch as he disappears down the dirt road, dust kicking up behind his bike tyres. Her frustration is clear even from where i'm standing, her hands set into tight fists on her hips. I watch her chest rise and fall with deep breaths. After a moment, she tightens her ponytail and walks back into the house – her face stormy.

That's the first time I get a good look at my closest neighbour.

Her house looks similar to mine, same double front house, same yard, but while I try my best to keep mine neat, it's clear there's an army of kids inside hers. Toys, swing sets, and dolls all cover the grass out front, and there are at least three bikes leaning against the fence on any given day. I've seen so many kids come and go, I'm never sure which ones are hers. It's a shambles, a complete mess, and sometimes I can hear her yelling from across the lawn, but something about it draws me in like only the sight of a proper family can.

Mary Alice and I meet properly one Monday afternoon. I've just finished cutting up Em's lunch, when I realise i'm not quite sure where he is.

"Em?"

His room is empty, his toys still lying in the middle of the floor.

I put the plate down on the kitchen bench as I pass.

"Emmett?"

The TV is off, and when I stand still for a moment, my heartbeat kicks up when I realise I can't hear him anywhere in the house. Not a peep. Hoping to find him in the front yard, I throw open the screen, only to have to catch myself on the doorframe as I almost trip over a body sitting at the front door.

Sitting crosslegged, Emmett has his toys strewn about the porch, his back to the screen door.

"Emmett, I—" It's only when I step over him that I see her, pressed up against the front of the house, a set of Avengers figurines in her lap.

She's tiny, a jumble of elbows and knees, with long dark hair and russet skin, and a pair of eyes so big she looks almost cartoonish. I know instantly she's from next door.

"Oh. Hello," I say quietly, kneeling down between the two.

Timid little thing she is, her dark skin flushes at the cheeks. "Hi."

"Is this your friend, Emmett?"

"She's from next door," he says casually.

I turn back to her, immediately seeing the similarity. "Oh."

"She likes Iron Man too."

The girl nods. "But I, um, I like Superman bestest."

Emmett frowns, shaking his head.

"There you are!" yells the woman from next door, who's just appeared at my front gate. "I thought I said to stay in the front yard!"

The little girl on my porch tilts her head to one side. "I did!"

The woman rolls her eyes, but there's a hint of a smile on her lips. "I meant _our_ front yard."

"It's okay," I say, standing and dusting my hands off. "I don't mind"

"I'm Mary Alice," says the woman, stepping right up onto the porch like she's making herself at home.

She reaches a hand for mine. "Bell—uh, Belle."

"Nice to meet you," Mary says, crossing her arms over her chest. "Welcome to the neighborhood."

"Thanks—"

"Come on, honey," she says, hand outstretched for the girl. "We gotta go pick your brother up."

"Can't I stay?" she whines.

Mary Alice stands firm, shaking her head. "Maybe another day. Say bye."

I watch as the tiny girl peels herself away from Emmett, and I realise that in her he might have already found a friend.

Mary turns to walk away when I finally find my voice. "Hey. You, um, you know of anywhere looking for staff? Part time work or something?"

She looks back at me, shielding her face from the sun. "Well… there's a bar up on the highway. It's isn't much, but they pay alright and the hours aren't bad. Old Harry who runs the place is kind of a grumpy bastard, but he runs a good bar."

"What's it called?"

"Just called 'Harry's'."

"Oh. Okay, thanks."

"Rosie!" she calls, reaching a hand out to her little one who's completely ignored her mom and sat back down again. "No problem. Tell him I sent you. He might throw you out on the spot, but it's worth a try. Rosalie-May, I said let's go!"

* * *

From that day on there's barely an afternoon goes by that Emmett and Rosie aren't together.

She's got an appetite like a horse, and there's always dirt on her face somewhere, or something sticky in her long hair, but Emmett absolutely adores her. We both do.

Harry's turns out to be the one bar in town, and just as Mary Alice had said, the owner, Harry, turns out to be a grumpy old pain in the ass.

"You got references?" he grunts from behind the bar.

"Well, no, I just came to—"

His eyes narrow. "You worked a bar before, girl?"

"Sort of, I—"

"Well have you or haven't you?"

"Yes, Sir. I worked—"

"Don't need your life story. Just need someone to work hard and not get knocked up. Last three women I hired went out and got themselves pregnant. Can't work when you got a damn beachball under your shirt and ankles the size of tree stumps."

I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out.

"Yeah, yeah. I know, women's rights and all that, I get it. But damned if the girls here ain't got nothin' better to do but marry up and have babies. "

"Well if you stop talking for one minute and let me finish, you'd learn that I already have a son. He's five. I'm not married, I don't even have a boyfriend, I barely know anyone in town except for my next-door neighbor, and I'm used to working six days a week so being a hard worker isn't an issue. But if you're going to be a crusty old asshole who gets on my back about being a "damn woman" then you can stick you job up your—,"

His laughter cuts me short.

For a moment he's silent with it, his mouth open and his eyes watering. But then it explodes, loud and raucous, echoing around the empty bar.

"Belle was it?"

I frown, glaring at him from across the bar. "Yeah."

He leans forward a little, grabbing my hand. Shaking hard he smiles. "Job's yours if you want it. Hell, anyone who's willing to put me in my place is worth a trial run at least."

"You're serious?"

"As a heart attack, girlie."

My trial lasts one night. After a six hour day shift Harry practically begs me to stay, offering me a better rate on a Sunday and all of my tips at every shift.

* * *

"You can take him over to the Ateara's," Mary Alice says, dumping another heaped teaspoon of sugar into her coffee. "Runs a daycare out of her house. It's not much, but she's good with the kids and it's cheap."

The morning after I get the job at Harry's I invite Mary Alice for a coffee to say thank you.

"You take Rosie there?"

She nods. "Sometimes. Mostly her Grandparents look after her when I'm at work, and the boys pick her up after school and bring her home."

"Have you lived here long?"

"All my life. Moved into town right after I married my husband. Parents are still on the Res, too darn stubborn to go anywhere else."

"Your husband around?"

"Died a few years back. Right after my youngest was born."

"I'm so sorry."

She smiles a little, shaking her head. "Don't be. No reason for you to be sorry. Stupid son of a bitch ran his dirt bike right into a tree up on one of the trails. Right up over the crest of a hill, and bang. Gone."

Her openness, her ability to talk to freely about such a painful memory is astounding. Awe-inspiring.

"Your little boy's daddy around?"

I contemplate lying. But without Edward around i'm craving closeness, that ability to have an open discussion with someone who won't judge me. And something about Mary Alice tells me she wouldn't bat an eyelid if I told her the truth. So I give her a version of the truth - a very small part of it.

"No. He's over at New York State, doing twenty to life."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"You keep in touch with him?"

Staring down into my coffee, I shake my head. "God no. If Emmett never meets his real father it'll be too soon."

We're both quiet for a moment, processing. Mary shifts in her seat, dark hair shining as it hangs in a thick rope over her shoulder. "So, the guy that came by here the other week? He's not your husband or… boyfriend?"

"Which guy?"

"Tall guy, beard, more tattooed skin than clean from what I could see."

I laugh. "No. Jasper is… he's a friend, I guess."

Mary Alice's eyebrows rise a little, and she hides a smirk behind her coffee cup before taking a sip. "Oh."

"Oh my God, no! Not that kind of friend."

She shrugs lazily, eyes filled with teasing. "No shame in that if he was more than a friend. I just figured since he was bringing boxes and stuff…"

"No. Definitely not."

We're quiet again, but I can see something twinkling in Mary Alice's eyes. "Too bad," she muses. "He's quite a specimen."

* * *

Lucky for Mary Alice, Jasper visits often. Every month or so. Each time he visits he brings a gift.

A brand new TV.

A box set of Animal Planet DVD's for Emmett.

A laptop for me.

This month, it's a puppy.

It's half the size of Emmett already, all paws and ears and soft, stretchy skin. He bounds around the house, sniffing and making himself at home, and within seconds the two of us are in love with it.

"He's not much now," says Jasper. "But he'll be a hell of a guard dog in a year or so."

"Do I need a guard dog?" I ask.

Shaking his head, Jasper smiles. "Not for what you think. But you're on your own out here, and you can never be too careful."

"How is… everything? Business is good?"

Chuckling, Jasper bends down to scratch the puppy behind the ears. "I'm in the business of being bad, Bella. It's always good."

I want to ask so badly. So, so badly. But I don't.

I don't need to. Jasper simply shakes his head, a knowing yet sad smile lifting the corners of his mouth

It takes a long, deep breath to hold back the tears. But I do it—I'm a pro at covering the emotion now. I paint a smile on and bend down to pat the puppy at our feet.

"What should we call him?" I ask Emmett, smiling for real as the dog licks at my fingers.

"Iron Man?"

I laugh. "No, baby, he needs a doggy name. Like Bones, or Rex, or Huckleberry."

"Huckaberry."

"You like Huck?"

"Yeah! We'll call you Huck, okay, Huck?"

Jasper and I leave Emmett to play with the puppy, the two of us heading out to the front porch. With summer well and truly on it's way, the kids next door are playing with a hose, and I can hear cicadas all round. It feels a world away from the grey, rainy city I left behind.

"You look good," says Jasper, flicking the ends of my hair.

Out of habit, I run my hands over the space my bangs used to sit. The hair is tucked over my ears now, long enough to be pulled back out of my face, even though the rest of it only just skims my collarbones.

"You doing okay?" he asks.

I think about it for a moment, listening to the sounds of forest around me. "I am," I say with a nod. "Every day has its moments, but we're doing okay. I think…" I look out over the street, over the green treetops and the mountains in the distance. "I think this place is good for me. For us."

"I think so, too." He slips his sunglasses back into place. "Make sure you get that air conditioner fixed," he says as he leaves. "It's going to be a long, hot summer."

The screen door from next-door slams shut, and I watch Mary steps out onto the porch, Rosie already climbing over the fences between our houses.

Jasper stops midway to the car, raising a hand. "Afternoon," he calls, and I can hear the smile in his voice from six feet away.

Alice lifts her chin in greeting, her shoulders straightening. "Afternoon yourself."

* * *

"How about a jug of Coors Light and your number?"

"You think I'd give my number to a man who drinks light beer?"

He laughs. "Come on now."

I roll my eyes, hooking the lip of the jug under the beer tap. "You know, you've asked every Saturday night for the past three weeks, and every time I've said no."

The guy smiles, dimples appearing. I can only imagine he gets a lot of girls with a smile like that.

"I figure I gotta get lucky one night, right?"

I plop the jug of beer in front of him, laughing. "Wrong. Ten fifty."

He clucks, but hands over the money. "Next week, Bell. I'll ask again next week."

"Okay, Dave. Good luck with that."

The Saturday night crowd are beginning to roll in. Truckers and machine workers from the logging companies around, a few locals, and the ever-present regulars. Work is easy, and the people are nice enough. Apart from a few over zealous guys - which, of course, I'm more than equipped to deal with - everyone is kind and friendly, which makes my job a whole lot easier.

"Hey, Esme," I say, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "How are you today?"

The old woman turns, wrinkled lips pursed around a cigarette. "Hey, sweetheart," she rasps, voice crackling. "I'd be better if that old coot Harry would hurry up with my white wine spritzer."

Laughing, I clear away the empty glass in front of her. "I'll see what's keeping him. You want something to eat?"

She pats my elbow with a gnarled hand. "You're too sweet."

"I'll see what I can find." With a wink, I leave her to herself.

I'm stacking glasses onto a tray when the front door swings open behind me, bringing a gust of early summer wind with it. It smells of sawdust and wet earth, and the sweet smell of green grass and forest. Dry leaves skitter across the floor, and my hair blows off my neck, sending a rush of goosebumps down my back.

"Can I get a hand back here, Belle?" yells Harry from across the bar.

I balance the tray on my hip as I grab a few extra glasses. "Sure thing."

Tray in hand I turn.

And.

I almost slam right into him.

All I see is green.

And then faded blue jeans. The kind that look soft and worn, the cuffs stuffed lazily into tan work boots that are covered in dust.

Red flannel and ink follow.

Dark hair that I know the feeling of between my fingers.

Eyes so goddamn bright I'd forgotten how green they were in real life.

The ink on his throat bobs as Edward swallows, clearing his throat.

"Hi."

**The End**

* * *

**There will be a short Epi to follow in the next week or so, PLUS some EPOV titled 'Red Right Hand' which will go up in the next day or so. Make sure you keep an eye out from those if you're interested. **

**I'll save all my thank you's and tears for the epi. For now, just know that i'm thankful for you all.**

**xx**


	30. Epilogue

I hear the door of the Brandon's house swing shut from my kitchen, and only a minute later a very angry-looking Emmett stomps through our front door, slamming it behind him.

"Emmett Swan, you better apologise for slamming that door."

Flinching, Emmett's head snaps up, his face paling when he spots me in the kitchen. "Sorry," he says quietly.

I hear him dump his school bag on the floor and flip off his shoes, leaving both in the middle of the floor. I'm waiting for him to appear at my side in the kitchen, but instead turn around I find him standing in the kitchen doorway, shuffling from foot to foot.

"You okay?"

He shrugs but nods at the same time.

I pat the stool at the kitchen counter, and with a sigh, he trudges into the kitchen and pulls the chair out. The two of us are silent as I pour him some soda, waiting for him to spit out whatever it is that's bugging him. He lifts himself into the seat slowly, and I pull the chopping board back over and continue cutting up vegetables for dinner.

Emmett sits quietly, watching me work, fidgeting as his brain ticks over. "Mom," he says finally. "Why can't girls and boys be friends? Why do they has to be boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"Who said that?" I ask as I hand him a pile of carrot sticks.

"Jane."

"Rosie's friend Jane?"

He nods, munching. "She said me and Rosie aren't asposed to be best friends 'cause I'm a boy and it's weird."

I shake my head. "It's not weird. I think maybe Jane is a little jealous because you and Rosie are such good friends, and you get to live next door to her and she doesn't."

This gives Emmett pause, and he slips back into that quiet place he goes so often, thinking while he crunches carrots loudly.

I drain the pasta and dig through the pantry for a jar of Mary Alice's marinara sauce. When I return, Emmett is still deep in thought, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth the way mine does when I'm lost in my own head.

"Girls are so dumb," he whispers after what feels like an age, and I can't help but laugh. His expression is so utterly perplexed.

"Rosie's a girl, you don't think she's dumb, do you?"

A deep red blush appears, pinking his cheeks, and I have to hide my smile. "No," he says. "I guess not _all_ girls are dumb."

"Like I said, maybe she's jealous. Maybe Jane has a crush on you, and she doesn't want you spending time with Rosie."

Or maybe Jane's parents need a good smack upside the head.

"But that's so stupid!"

I laugh at Emmett's exasperation, reaching over to ruffle his blonde hair. "Just ignore her, baby. You and Rosie can be friends no matter what, okay?"

"It's not weird?"

"Of course not. Now, give your momma a kiss and then go get your homework out."

At almost nine-years-old, Emmett's head is brushing my shoulder. The little sandy-haired handful is a thing of the past, and now, he's a mess of long limbs and big feet that he constantly trips over. He's no different than Huck was as a puppy—clumsy and gangly like he's not sure how to work his own body. It's both exciting and horrifying.

I lean down a little so he can tiptoe up to kiss me on the cheek before he thunders upstairs to his bedroom, Huck, his ever-present shadow, close behind.

An hour or so later, I've just put dinner into the oven when the side door closes gently, a breeze bringing with it the smell of dirt and pine and autumn air. Turning my head a little, Edward's lips find my cheek as his hands rest against the benchtop at my hips. His skin is stained with oil and grease and he smells like sweat and engine parts, his beard scratchy-soft against my neck as he dips his head to place a kiss against my shoulder.

"Smells good," he says.

"So do you," I reply quietly, turning in the cage of his arms.

"If you say so."

My skin warms as he buries his face into my neck, inhaling through a quiet groan. He says I smell _different_. I think he's insane, but quietly I wonder if it's a male thing, some protective instinct or pheromone that's kicked in.

Emmett makes a retching sound behind us. "Gross."

Smirking against my skin, Edward turns, disentangling himself from me and leaving me flushed and fuzzy. "I got that part you wanted," he says to Emmett, leaning against the table beside him.

Emmett's face lights up, and he's out of his chair so fast it almost falls over. "Can I see it? Can we put it on tonight?"

"It's out back," says Edward, guiding Emmett back into his seat gently. "We'll put it on tonight as long as you finish your homework."

Em bounces in his seat. "I've only got two math questions left. Can we do it before dinner?"

The dirt bike Edward found at a junk yard has been a summer-long project for the two boys. Emmett does his chores and saves up his pocket money, and Edward buys the parts and shows him how to fit them. To say I'm worried about my son on a dirt bike is an understatement. At first, I'd been inclined to put my foot down and say no. The bike trails around here can be dangerous, and the thought of Emmett flying around the forest with nothing between him and a fur-tree makes me all sorts of nervous. But Edward and Mary Alice have both told me that I need to loosen up - let go a little.

I guess old habits die hard. That overprotective mama instinct is a hard one to kick.

Having Edward makes it easier though. His calming presence gives me a reason to loosen my grip and take a breath sometimes.

Of course, it hasn't always been this easy for us. We spent months looking over our shoulders, lying low, barely stepping foot outside of the house for fear of someone recognizing us. Coupled with fact that the last time I'd seen Edward he'd had Marcus' brain matter smeared all over him, there were moments I feared we might not be able to put the violence of our past behind us. That even so far away, it would chase us like a black cloud.

In the end, it was a shared understanding of the events that lead us to Clearwater that pulled us together.

He was there for me the days when it was all too much. When everything that had lead to the events at Blush felt like enough to consume me, to fill my lungs and drown me. He picked up after Emmett, he cooked dinner, he held me quietly until I pulled together the ragged ends of my life and made them whole again-even if just for the moment.

I was there the nights Edward woke in a sweat, hands digging beneath his pillow for a gun, muscles tensed as he sucked in lungfuls of air to calm his racing pulse. I became the light he needed to understand that the bad things he's done are what make him a good man, while Emmett showed him exactly why his actions hadn't been in vain. He wiggled his way back into Edward's space until the light that I was sure Edward had lost came back.

Clearwater has been good for him. For us.

Motorbikes, cars, trail bikes, Edward seems to have a knack for anything with an engine. We keep it pretty simple, with Edward renting a small space from a garage in town, but pretty soon word of mouth worked its magic and he had a steady flow of business. Between that and my work at the bar, we make enough to keep ourselves fed and happy. And happy we are - something I never thought I'd be.

Jasper keeps in touch. He makes the trip over every few months, even more so over the past year. He never talks about his work, and Edward never asks. From what I can gather, there is a mutual understanding between the two that Edward doesn't want to know, and Jasper doesn't want to tell him. Mary Alice probably knows more about Jasper's goings on than we do, so I leave it at that, happy to let him do his own thing well away from Edward and I.

* * *

Right before dinner, I'm finishing up Emmett's homework with him when I hear Edward coming down the stairs behind us. I turn to ask him to grab me a sweater from upstairs, but the words die in my mouth.

"Look who's awake," he says quietly, looking down at the swathed bundle in his arms.

His hand almost entirely envelops her tiny body as it sits cradled against his chest. He looks down at her, awed, as her tiny hand grips his finger tightly, tiny pink lips puckered as she pushes her face into his chest.

Standing, I reach up to brush the sandy brown hair over Elizabeth's forehead as Edward holds her between us. "I was just thinking about you," I whisper.

She's ready for yet another feed, but for just a moment longer I watch Edward fuss with her; tugging on her onesie gently, adjusting her tiny socks, whispering quietly to her.

I don't think I'll ever get enough of watching.

From the minute I found out I was pregnant, Edward was a mess of nerves. I'd never seen him so on edge. Even when all the shit went down with Marcus he kept that cool, calm exterior of his in place. He'd always been so unflappable, so steadfast in his confidence—I couldn't believe that all it took was an eight-pound baby girl to make him come undone.

He was so scared he would drop her, hurt her, hold her wrong, lover her too much or not enough. But two minutes after she was born he'd slipped gently into fatherhood as I knew he would, embracing it in all it's messy, sleepless, stressful, beautiful wonder, settling in like he'd always belonged there.

I didn't think it was possible to be in love with someone more than I was with Edward.

I was so wrong.

With our little family, I fell hard for him all over again. My heart exploded, it made room for more love than I'd ever thought was possible and it felt like free falling—completely exhilarating.

The three of us became four, and just like that, a new chapter of our lives began all over again.

* * *

Later that night, after both Emmett and, mercifully, Elizabeth are asleep, Edward and I find ourselves with some rare alone time.

"You know, I think we're going to need to sit down with Emmett soon and talk to him about girls," I say as my spoon scrapes the bottom of the ice cream tub.

"We?"

I smile at him as I rise to take our spoons to the sink. "I mean you."

"Yeah?"

"I think he's got a crush."

Edward sighs. "Rosalie?"

I hum in agreement as I wash up. We'd both seen it coming a mile away, but had very much hoped they'd been a bit older. "I can do it if you'd prefer?"

"I'll do it," he says sounding resigned. My reflection smiles back at me as I think about the awkward conversation he's going to have to have. I don't know who will be more embarrassed, Emmett or Edward. "Did Mary Alice say something? Bella?"

Mind spinning, I reach over to the small iPod dock on the kitchen window sill, turning it up slightly.

Behind me, Edward's reflection stills and he lifts his head to find my gaze in the darkened kitchen window. "Is this...our song?"

I nod, unable to stop the gentle sway of my hips as the bass line drifts through the tiny speaker. Closing my eyes, I let the music sink into my skin, delighting in the way my heart remembers the adrenaline hit.

"Do remember that night?" he asks, his deep voice so close now, just over my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine. The heat from his body presses against my back and shoulders as he lingers just out of reach. "You have no idea how hard it was to keep my hands to myself."

I smirk, thinking back to what feels like another life, remembering the way his green eyes had felt heavy against my skin. How much I'd ached for him to touch me. How at that moment, and every moment since, I'd never wanted another man to touch me ever again.

His warm hands slide around my hips, pulling me back to press my back against his chest. "How long?"

Leaning into his embrace, I sigh at the feeling of his hands as they brush over the front of my skirt. "Five and a half weeks."

His large hand slides up my stomach, pressing flat on my chest as he pulls me flush against him. "How long did the doctor say?"

"Six."

My breath catches in my throat as he spins me in his arms, clearly done with waiting.

His mouth captures mine, swallowing my gasp as his thigh finds the space between mine and he presses himself against me. He kisses me dizzy, a hand pawing gently at my chest as the other pushes my skirt to my thigh. My hands find the skin beneath his t-shirt, his stomach flexing beneath my touch.

The music continues in the background—a soundtrack to the way Edward plays my body the way only he knows how. His mouth is hot and wet against my neck, leaving me panting and shaking, my fingers echoing the need I feel deep in my soul for him to consume me. Like he hears the echo, Edward lowers himself gently to my feet, his hands sliding up and under my skirt.

"Just…" I shudder as he rolls my underwear over my hips, fingers slipping beneath the elastic. "Be gentle."

"Am I ever anything else?" he asks as he looks up at me.

I simply tilt my head.

A heart-stopping smirk explodes across Edward's face, and his eyes blaze as he remembers the same thing I do.

One too many of Mary Alice's Long Island Iced Teas.

A night alone.

Lips. Teeth. Tongues. Hands. Heat.

Two blue lines.

His hands are dark inky spots across my lower abdomen, his fingers splayed wide as his thumbs brush the place where, just five and a half weeks ago, our daughter was. Like he's reading my mind, he presses a kiss to the soft, lumpy skin of my stomach.

In another life, I might be self-conscious. I might cover the loose skin and stretch marks with my hands. I might even push him away. But when he looks up from where he's kneeling at my feet, there is nothing but love and adoration in his eyes—worship of the body that held his child, admiration for the woman who created that life with him.

I brush a hand over his head, fingers finding purchase in his hair as his hands slide from my hips to my ass, my breath catching as his mouth slides lower—lower and lower until his face is buried between my legs and his mouth is on me and I have to grip the sink with my free hand.

True to his word, he's gentle until I can't take it anymore, and I need _everything_ and all I can do whisper-beg him for it. Relenting, he adds his fingers, pressing deep until I'm silent with pleasure. He holds me still as my body shakes, as he pulls the last pieces of my love for him from deep inside my chest where they lie waiting.

Feeling soft and pliant in his arms, Edward lies me on our kitchen table, smiling down at me as I tug his dirty t-shirt over his head. His dark hair flops over his forehead, green eyes blazing at me from beneath gold lashes as he leans down to kiss me again. I can see how much effort it's taking him to restrain, to stop from taking me the way he wants. His muscles twitch and shiver beneath my hands as he buries himself inside me slowly, and the moment he does it's like my body opens up to him. It feels like home and love and real, and the overwhelming sense that I finally have everything almost makes me cry with joy.

Edward tenses above me as his end nears, brow creased and serious the way I love so much. His hand wraps around my thigh, lifting it high over his hip as his thrusts become erratic, his need wrapping itself through every fiber of his being until it bleeds into my own and we become nothing but hot panting breaths and clutching fingers and _oh fuck_.

Spent, he rests his forehead against mine, green eyes bright but already showing signs of that new-parent, bone-deep exhaustion we're both carrying.

As if on cue, the baby monitor crackles a whimper echoes through the quiet kitchen. Above me, Edward sighs and presses a kiss to my collarbone before lifting me up with him.

"Okay?"

I smile lazily, kissing the hand that he brushes across my cheek.

"Perfect."


End file.
